LOVERS  AND    EUSBA&DS: 


A  STORY  OF   MARRIED  LIFE, 


BY 


T.  S.  ARTHUR, 

AUTHOR   OP   "SWEETHEARTS  AND   WIVES,"    "INSUBORDINATION," 
'•  SIX    NIGHTS  WITH   THE  WASHINGTONIANS,"   &C.,  &C. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
HENRY    F.   ANNERS. 

1847. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1846,  bv 
T.  S.  ARTHUR, 

n  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern 
District  of  Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  I.  M  ft 

THE   TWO   MAIDENS 5 

CHAPTER  II. 

AN   AUTUMN    WALK         ....  .  .       13 

CHAPTER  III. 

A    BRILLIANT    LOVER 20 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    DECLARATION 26 

CHAPTER  V. 

A   WEDDING  .  34 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A    MAN    OF    THE    WORLD 44 

CHAPTER  VII. 
FLORA'S  TWO  SUITERS 51 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN   ACT    OF    OPPRESSION 59 

CHAPTER  IX. 

DISCOVERY   OF    CHARACTER gg 

CHAPTER  X. 

DECLINING    AN    OFFER    UPON  PRINCIPLE  .  ,74 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XL 

ANOTHER    BRIDAL 82 

CHAPTER  XII. 
TIME'S  DEVELOPMENTS 87 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

SAD   CONSEQUENCES    OF    A    WRONG    MARRIAGE  .  .       95 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

LOST    AFFECTIONS 103 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    NEGLECTED    WIFE  .  .  .  .  .  .    113 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    GAMBLING   HUSBAND 119 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

FLEECING   A   PLANTER 127 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

X    MELANCHOLY   HISTORY 133 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

DREADFUL  CONSEQUENCES  OF  EVIL    ....  140 

CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  WRECK  OF  EARLY  HOPES 144 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

CONCLUSION 152 


LOVERS   AND   HUSBANDS.   . 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    TWO    MAIDENS. 

Two  maidens  sat  in  earnest  conversation  one 
quiet  afternoon  in  October,  near  the  window  of  a 
tasteful  cottage  which  looked  out  upon  a  gently- 
declining  lawn,  encircled  by  elms  that  still  retain 
ed  their  thick  foliage.  Beyond  this  lawn  was  a 
dense  wood,  gayly  attired  in  its  many-coloured  au 
tumn  robes.  The  rays  of  the  setting  sun  fell  broad 
and  unobstructed  upon  the  bosom  of  this  forest, 
lending  to  each  gaudy  leaf,  or  to  the  half-revealed 
silvery  branches  and  trunks  of  the  trees,  a  glittering 
lustre  that  dazzled  the  eye. 

"  See,  Flora  !"  said  one  of  the  maidens,  suddenly 
interrupting  their  conversation,  and  glancing  out  of 
the  window  as  she  spoke  :  "  is  there  anything  in 
nature  more  beautiful  than  an  autumn  sunset?" 

"  Nothing,"  returned  her  companion,  half  ab 
stractedly,  as  her  eyes  followed  the  direction  of 
her  companion's.  Then  speaking  with  a  sudden 
animation,  inspired  by  the  scene,  she  added, 

"  Beautiful,  very  beautiful !  See,  Emily,  how 
the  sun's  declining  rays  fall  in  broad  masses  of 
golden  light  over  that  more  sombre  and  distant 
portion  of  the  forest,  softening  it  down,  and  blend 
ing  it  in  exquisite  harmony,  like  a  skilfully-laid 
A2 


6  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

background,  with  the  brighter  picture  that  stands 
out  nearer  and  in  more,  gorgeous  colouring." 
"  A  living  and  real  picture  —  not  cold,  inanimate 


"  Yes,  living  ar,d  real.  That  strong-armed, 
deep-bosomed  oak,  upon  whose  outermost  branch 
es  lingers  the  sun's  parting  rays,  is  a  different 
thing  from  the  oak  of  the  painter,  no  matter  how 
perfect  his  work  may  be  ;  and  in  looking  at  it,  we 
have  a  different  feeling.  We  admire  the  work  of 
art,  but  we  love  the  work  of  nature.  In  looking 
at  the  real  tree,  we  have  a  consciousness  that  it  is 
the  actual,  living  correspondent  of  something  in  our 
selves.  That  there  is  between  us,  or  a  certain 
principle  in  us  and  the  tree,  an  affinity  ;  as  there 
is  between  us,  or  certain  principles  in  us,  and  every 
flower  or  bird  —  between  us  and  everything,  ani 
mate  or  inanimate,  in  the  world  of  creation.  It  is 
from  this  cause  that  we  are  peculiarly  and  vari 
ously  affected  by  the  sight  of  natural  objects  —  af 
fected  in  a  different  way  than  by  objects  the  wcrk 
of  men's  hands.  The  latter  awake  admiration,  if 
beautiful  ;  but  nature  stirs  something  within  us 
that  is  far  deeper  than  a  cold  approval." 

Flora  Elton,  who  thus  spoke,  was  the  daughter 
of  a  widow  who  owned  the  neat  cottage  in  which 
she  lived,  the  same  that  stood  near  the  fine  old 
woods  just  alluded  to.  She  was  not  a  maiden  of 
showy  exterior,  nor  were  her  manners  and  ad 
dress  such  as  to  attract  the  attention  of  a  stranger, 
unless  he  were  more  than  a  superficial  observer  ; 
arid  yet  she  had  a  mind  that  was  richly  stored, 
and  affections  that  were  warm,  chastened,  and  re 
fined.  Her  companion,  Emily  Clarence,  was  her 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  7 

opposite  in  temperament  and  manner.  While 
Flora  half  shrunk  from  observation,  and,  therefore, 
attracted  little  notice,  Emily's  bright,  animated, 
really  beautiful  face,  combined  with  her  great 
sprightliness  and  brilliant  powers  of  conversation, 
made  her  a  general  favourite  in  company,  and,  in 
consequence,  the  recipient  of  the  most  general  at 
tentions.  The  one  was  quiet  and  thoughtful  at  all 
times,  the  other  gay  and  imposing,  and  pleased 
with  the  admiration  she  won.  Opposites  in  charac 
ter,  they  were  yet  bosom  friends,  and  had  been  for 
years. 

The  pleasant  cottage  in  which  Flora  dwelt  with 
her  mother  was  in  New-Jersey,  about  five  miles 
from  the  city  of  New- York.  Mrs.  Elton,  during 
the  lifetime  of  her  husband,  resided  in  the  city, 
where  she  still  had  many  friends.  Among  these 
was  Mrs.  Clarence,  whose  daughter  Emily  spent 
a  portion  of  every  summer  at  Rose  Hill,  Mrs.  El 
ton's  unimposing  yet  tasteful  seat.  In  turn,  Flora 
passed  a  part  of  her  time  in  the  city  during  the 
winter.  Thus  were  the  two  maidens  brought 
much  together,  and  the  consequence  was,  that 
their  attachment  grew  from  a  girlish  preference 
into  a  deep,  sisterly  regard. 

The  conversation,  which  had  been  interrupted 
by  Emily's  remark  upon  the  beauty  of  the  old 
woods,  bathed  in  the  golden  rays  of  an  autumn 
sunset,  was  resumed  after  a  brief  interruption. 

"  And  so  you  do  not  admire  Mr.  Whitney  V1 
Emily  said,  assuming  a  gayer  tone. 

"  I  have  seen  but  little  of  him,"  Flora  replied. 
"  That  little,  however,  I  am  free  to  confess,  has 
not  prepossessed  me  in  his  favour." 


8  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS : 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  a  very  handsome  man,"  Emily 
said. 

"  A  handsome  man  and  a  good  man  are  two 
things." 

"  No  doubt  of  that,  Flora.  But  do  you  know- 
that  Mr.  Whitney  is  not  a  good  man  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  of  course  I  do  not.  I  only  made  the 
remark  to  show  that  I  thought  we  ought  to  look  a 
little  deeper  than  the  surface." 

"  Of  course.  Still,  external  beauty  and  exter 
nal  accomplishments  are  to  be  regarded.  For  my 
part,  I  could  not  love  a  dull-looking,  awkward, 
homely  man.  Could  you  ?" 

Flora's  cheek  slightly  flushed  as  she  replied, 

"  Yes ;  if  his  mind  were  clear,  orderly,  and 
beautiful." 

"  It  is  more  than  I  could,  then.  I  would  put 
up,  cheerfully,  with  some  mental  defects,  if  the 
man  of  my  choice  were  handsome  in  person,  well 
educated,  refined  in  his  intercourse  with  society, 
and  fairly  to  do  in  the  world.  I  want  a  husband 
of  whom  I  shall  be  proud.  To  be  tied  to  a  mere 
dull,  lifeless  drone,  would  kill  me.  I  could  not  go 
into  society  with  him  and  avoid  being  mortified  to 
death  ;  and  if  I  went  without  him,  I  should  be  sub 
jected  to  remarks  of  an  unpleasant  kind.  But  see  ! 
if  there  isn't  that  insipid  Doctor  Arlington  again ! 
I  wonder  what  brings  him  here  !  If  there  wasn't 
a  scarcity  of  beaux  in  these  parts,  I  would  be  half 
inclined  to  ask  him  if  he  came  to  see  Nancy,  the 
cook.  But  I  would  die  if  I  didn't  see  a  man's  face 
now  and  then.  So  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  toler 
ate  the  doctor  as  a  necessary  evil." 

Doctor  Arlington,  the  unconscious    subject  of 


A    STORY   OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  9 

these  disparaging  remarks,  had  by  this  time  reach 
ed  the  door,  and  Emily  felt  it  prudent  to  check  her 
rather  free  tongue.  Certainly  no  one  who  looked 
into  his  face  for  the  first  time  would  pronounce 
him  a  very  handsome  man,  and  it  is  much  to  be 
doubted  whether  any  one  would  have  called  him 
an  agreeable  companion  after  sitting  an  hour  with 
him  during  the  first  interview.  Still,  Doctor  Ar 
lington  had  his  good  points,  and  these  were  intrin 
sic,  like  the  good  points  in  a  piece  of  virgin  ore. 
He  could  not  dance,  nor  play  on  the  flute,  nor  talk 
French ;  nor  was  he,  indeed,  at  all  externally  ac 
complished.  He  was  diffident,  too,  and  awkward, 
and  reserved  in  company.  But,  although  but 
twenty-five,  he  was  deeply  skilled  in  his  profes 
sion,  and,  as  a  physician,  had  the  fullest  confidence 
of  the  community  in  which  he  resided  ;  and,  be 
sides,  he  was  a  man  of  firm,  well-arranged  princi 
ples,  and  possessed  a  warm  heart. 

In  a  moment  or  two  after  Emily  uttered  her  light 
remarks,  Doctor  Arlington  stood  in  the  door  of  the 
room  where  the  young  ladies  were  seated.  He 
felt  awkward  and  embarrassed,  as  he  always  did 
when  his  visits  were  unprofessional,  and  to  young 
ladies.  He  looked  just  as  awkward  and  embar 
rassed  as  he  felt.  Emily,  as  she  arose  and  cour- 
tesied  formally,  could  scarcely  help  smiling  in  the 
young  man's  face,  while  Flora  experienced  a 
want  of  self-possession  which  she  had  never  be 
fore  known  on  meeting  him.  The  colour  rose  to 
her  face,  and  it  was  some  moments  before  she  was 
sufficiently  composed  to  receive  him  with  her  usual 
kindness  and  attention.  Conversation  dragged  on 
very  heavily  during  the  hour  thai  Doctor  Arlington 


10  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

spent  with  the  young  ladies — much  more  heavily 
than  it  had  ever  done  with  him  and  Flora,  even 
while  the  mother  of  the  latter  made  one  of  the 
company.  As  the  twilight  began  to  thicken  around, 
the  visiter  arose  to  depart.  He  was  urged  by  Mrs. 
Elton,  who  had  joined  them,  to  remain  to  tea,  and 
spend  the  evening  ;  but  he  excused  himself  on  the 
ground  of  professional  engagements,  and  withdrew, 
not,  however,  without  nearly  falling  backward,  as 
he  bowed  out,  awkwardly,  from  the  presence  of  the 
young  ladies. 

"  I  wish  in  my  heart  he  had  fallen  !"  Emily  said, 
laughing  gayly,  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  Why  so,  Emily  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Elton,  half  smi 
ling. 

"  Oh,  because  he  is  so  ugly  and  awkward.  I 
have  no  patience  with  an  awkward  booby  of  a 
man." 

"  While  for  a  handsome  fellow,  even  if  a  villain, 
you  would  entertain  the  most  exalted  regard  ?" 

"  As  to  that,  Mrs.  Elton,"  Emily  returned,  laugh- 
ing,  "  I  don't  believe  a  real  handsome  man  can  be 
a  bad  man." 

"  Time  will  teach  you  a  different  lesson  from 
that,  child.  The  most  heartless  man  I  ever  knew 
had  the  most  attractive  external  I  remember  to  have 
seen." 

"  Was  he  accomplished  ?" 

"  Yes,  in  everything  that  could  make  him  agree 
able." 

"  Then  I  should  say  that  he  was  the  seventh 
wonder  of  the  world." 

"  No  ;  not  a  seventh  wonder,  nor 'any  wonder  at 
all.  Such  specious,  handsome,  heartless,  accom- 


A    STORY    OF   MARRIED    LIFE.  11 

plishod  men,  are  to  be  found  in  almost  every  fash 
ionable  circle — winning  young  hearts  but  to  break 
them." 

"  A  story  with  which  to  frighten  naughty  chil 
dren  !"  laughingly  replied  Emily  Clarence.  "  But 
I'll  be  a, good  girl,  Mrs.  Elton — never  fear." 

"  Be  wise  as  well  as  good,  my  child,"  was  the 
rather  serious  remark  of  Mrs.  Elton,  as  she  turned 
away  and  left  the  room,  half  sighing  for  the  gay 
thoughtlessness  of  one  whose  many  good  qualities 
had  won  from  her  more  than  an  evanescent  regard. 

"  For  whom  was  that  visit  intended,  Flora  ?" 
Emily  asked,  turning  with  a  mischievous  face  to 
her  young  friend  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Elton  had  with 
drawn.  "  For  you  or  for  me  ?" 

"  For  both  of  us,  in  all  probability." 

"  Oh  no,  no  !  Doctor  Arlington  never  could 
pick  up  the  courage  to  visit  two  young  ladies  a 
once.  A  call  upon  one  is  enough  for  his  delicate 
nerves." 

"  He  knew  there  was  more  than  one  young  lady 
at  Rose  Hill." 

"  No  one  would  have  thought  so  this  evening !" 

"  Why,  Emily,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  as  I  have  said,  that  no  one  would  have 
thought  he  knew  there  was  more  than  a  single 
young  lady  present  this  evening.  I  don't  believe 
he  looked  at  me  when  he  came  in,  and  I  am  sure 
he  did  not  speak  to  me  while  he  remained.  He 
was  either  afraid  to  look  at  me,  or  unconscious  of 
my  presence  :  the  latter,  more  probably.  Take 
my  word  for  it,  Flora,  the  doctor  is  deeply  smitten 
with  you  !" 

Flora  coloured  a  good  deal  at  this  gay  sally  and 


12  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

seemed  confused  for  a  few  moments.  But  she  ral- 
Ued  herself,  and  replied,  half  jestingly, 

"  A  young  lady  might  attract  a  less  harmless  in 
sect.  The  doctor  is  a  very  excellent  man." 

"  Oh  yes,  one  of  the  excellent  of  the  earth,  no 
doubt.  But  I  don't  relish  him." 

"  We  should  not  suffer  ourselves  to  entertain  un 
founded  prejudices  against  any  one,  Emily.  Doc 
tor  Arlington  cannot  help  being  homely  in  person, 
nor  can  he  help  being  diffident,  and  sometimes  a 
little  awkward.  But  let  us  look  at  the  good  in  him, 
and  estimate  him  accordingly.  If  we  do  that,  we 
shall  find  the  unprepossessing  country  doctor  to  be 
a  man  worthy  of  a  high  regard." 

**  Well,  let  old  women  and  clodpoles  hold  him  in 
as  high  regard  as  his  good  qualities  deserve.  I 
shall  not  find  fault  with  them,  nor  with  him  either, 
if  he  keep  out  of  my  way.  But,  if  he  expects  me 
to  treat  him  as  a  gentleman,  he  must  learn  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman." 

Emily  spoke  with  a  little  warmth.  Flora  made 
no  reply  to  this  last  remark,  but  dexterously  chan 
ged  the  subject  of  conversation. 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  13 


CHAPTER  II. 

AN    AUTUMN    WALK. 

FLORA  ELTON  and  her  friend  sat  at  the  same 
window,  and  looked  out  upon  the  same  grassy 
lawn  and  deep-bosomed  forest  on  the  next  morn 
ing,  engaged,  as  when  first  introduced,  in  close 
conversation.  The  air,  which  had  been  chilled 
for  a  week  by  an  early  frost,  was  again  genial  as 
spring.  A  few  lingering  birds  were  fluttering 
about,  sending  up  an  occasional  song  or  brief 
chirrup,  while  the  mild  south  wind  gently  stirred 
the  branches  and  coloured  foliage  of  the  trees. 

"  Our  little  world  within — our  sunny  world,  so 
bright  with  promise,  has  closed  our  eyes  and  ears 
to  the  beauty  of  a  delicious  autumn  day,"  remarked 
Flora,  looking  out  upon  the  pleasant  scene.  "  It  is 
not  good  to  be  so  much  absorbed  in  either  the  past 
or  the  future,  as  to  lose  what  the  present  has  to  offer. 
Come,  let  us  go  out  upon  the  lawn,  and  down 
through  that  pleasant  little  grove,  to  the  fields  be 
yond.  There  is  much  that  we  ought  to  feel  on  a 
day  like  this.  Nature  has  no  phasis  that  does  not 
reflect  itself  upon  the  heart,  if  the  heart  only  turn 
towards  it  an  undimmed  surface.  Spring,  summer, 
autumn,  winter,  are  full  of  instruction,  not  given  di 
dactically,  but  in  pictures,  which  the  eye  of  all 
who  can  look  upon  and  love  nature  may  perceive 
and  enjoy,  at  the  same  time  that  their  deeper 
meanings  are  whispered  in  the  spirit's  ear." 

Flora  arose  as  she  spoke,  and  drawing  her  arm 
B 


14  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS : 

within  that  of  Emily,  the  two  maidens  passed  out 
into  the  open  air.  A  slight  crepitation  reached  the 
ear  of  the  former  as  she  stepped  from  the  porch 
upon  the  grass,  causing  her  to  look  down  upon  a 
withered  leaf  that  her  foot  had  crushed. 

"Poor  leaf!  fallen  to  rise  no  more,"  she  said, 
half  sadly.  "  And  yet,"  she  added,  in  a  more 
cheerful  voice,  "  it  is  not  the  leaf  that  is  dead,  it  is 
only  the  material  form  of  a  leaf  that  my  foot  has 
touched.  The  leaf — yes,  the  thousand  leaves  that 
were  put  forth  by  the  tree  from  which  this  effigy 
has  but  just  fallen,  are  still  in  the  tree  in  perennial 
potency.  They  have  only  withdrawn  from  a  de 
caying  form.  They  will  take  to  themselves  new 
forms  again  when  the  warm  springtime  comes,  as 
they  have  done  through  many  past  seasons,  and 
gladden  the  eye  of  man  with  their  beauty.  No, 
no,  the  leaf  is  not  dead — the  grass  is  not  wither 
ed — the  flower  has  not  faded  :  only  what  once 
manifested  the  leaf,  the  grass,  the  flower,  have  lost 
their  life,  their  freshness,  their  loveliness.  When 
the  winter  is  past  the  leaf  will  take  to  itself  new 
clothing,  visible  to  our  natural  eyes ;  the  grass 
will  spring  up,  and  the  flowers  will  again  gladden 
us  with  their  presence.  Will  not  the  rose  be  the 
same,  and  the  leaf  the  same  ?  Here  is  a  bush 
that  every  spring  gives  us  its  wealth  of  buds  and 
blossoms.  Its  flowers  are  more  fragrant  than  any 
in  the  garden.  As  the  sultry  heats  of  summer  be 
gin  to  burn  around,  the  leaves  of  these  blossoms 
lose  their  freshness,  their  colour  grows  dim,  and 
at  last  they  fall  to  the  ground  ;  but  when  spring 
returns,  the  same  sweet  flowers  come  again,  and 
their  colours  and  fragrance  are  as  lovely  and  de- 


A   STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  15 

lightful  as  before.  They  are,  in  fact,  the  same 
flowers;  I  know  them  and  love  them  as  such." 

"  A  sweet  fancy,  Flora,  but  only  a  fancy.  How 
full  you  always  are  of  such  pleasant  dreams.  You 
look  upon  nature  with  the  poet's  eye,  not  with  the 
eye  of  reason." 

"  The  eye  of  the  true  poet  sees  nothing  in  na 
ture  that  the  eye  of  reason  may  not  also  perceive. 
It  cannot,  I  think,  require  a  dreamer  of  vague 
dreams  to  see  in  a  dead  leaf  merely  the  form  of  a 
leaf,  or  in  the  new  developments  in  the  spring  the 
same  leaves  or  the  same  flowers  that  before  clothed 
the  branches  or  hung  upon  the  stems.  Are  the  ele 
ments  from  which  the  potent  leaf  in  the  tree  forms 
a  representation  of  itself  visible  to  natural  eyes, 
changed  in  each  successive  season  ?  or  is  the 
form-producing  principle  itself  changed?  No!  for 
if  that  were  the  fact,  the  leaf  we  saw  this  year 
would  not  be  like  the  leaf  we  saw  last  year ;  the 
flower  would  be  a  flower  with  different  quality  and 
odour." 

"  I  cannot  look  so  deep  as  that,  Flora.  To  me 
a  dead  flower  that  I  have  loved  is  dead  indeed,  and 
I  mourn  for  it  as  a  friend  lost  to  me  forever.  With 
Bryant,  at  this  melancholy  season,  I  can  sigh — 

'  Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young  flowers,  that  lately  sprang  and 

stood 

tci  brighter  light,  and  softer  airs,  a  beauteous  sisterhood  ? 
Alas  !  they  all  are  in  their  graves  ;  the  gentle  race  of  flowers 
Are  lying-  in  their  lowly  beds,  with  the  fair  and  good  of  ours. 
*  *      '          *  *  *  * 

'  The  wind-flower,  and  the  violet,  they  perished  long  ago, 
And  the  brier-rose  and  orchis  died  amid  the  summer  glow  ; 
But  on  the  hill  the  golden-rod,  and  the  aster  in  the  wood, 
And  the  yellow  sunflower  by  the  brook  in  autumn's  beauty  stood, 
Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear  cold  heaven,  as  falls  the  plague  on 

men, 
And  the  brightness  of  their  smile  was  given  from  upland,  glade,  and 

glen. 


16  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

'  And  now,  when  comes  the  calm,  mild  day,  as  still  such  days  will 

come, 

To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their  winter  home  ; 
When  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  is  heard,  though  all  the  trees  are 

still, 

And  twinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the  waters  of  the  rill : 
The  south  wind  searches  for  the  flpwers  whose  fragrance  late  he  bore, 
And  sighs  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and  by  the  stream  no  more.' " 

"  While  I,"  returned  Flora,  "  can  feel  and  love 
the  more  cheerful  spirit  of  Waterston.  Let  me 
repeat  to  you  his  sweet  thoughts  on  '  Autumn.' 

'  Upon  a  leaf-strewn  walk, 
I  wander  on  amid  the  sparkling  dews  ; 
Where  autumn  hangs,  upon  her  frost-gemm'd  stalk, 
Her  gold  and  purple  hues  : 

Where  the  tall  fox-gloves  shake 
Their  loose  bells  to  the  wind,  and  each  sweet  flower 
Bows  down  its  perfumed  blossoms  to  partake 

The  influence  of  the  hour : 

Where  the  cloud-shadows  pass 
With  noiseless  speed  by  lovely  lake  and  rill, 
Chasing  each  other  o'er  the  low,  cnsp'd  grass, 

And  up  the  distant  hill ; 

Where  the  clear  stream  steals  on 
Upon  its  silent  path,  as  it  were  sad 
To  find  each  downward-  gazing  flower  had  gone, 

That  made  it  once  so  glad. 

I  number  it  in  days 

Since  last  I  roam'd  through  this-  secluded  dell, 
Seeking  a  shelter  from  the  summer  rays, 

Where  flowers  and  wild-birds  dwell. 

While  gemni'd  with  dewdrops  bright, 
Green  leaves  and  silken  buds  are  dancing  there, 
I  moved  my  lips  in  murmurs  of  delight, 
"  And  bless'd  them  unawares." 

How  changed  each  sylvan  scene  ! 
Where  is  the  warbling  bird  ?  the  sun's  clear  ray  ? 
The  waving  brier-rose  ?  the  foliage  green, 

That  canopied  my  way  T 

Where  is  the  balmy  breeze 

That  fann'd  so  late  my  brow  1  the  sweet  southwest, 
That,  whispering  music  to  the  listening  trees, 

My  raptured  spirit  bless'd  1 

Where  are  the  notes  of  spring  1 
Yet  the  brown  bee  still  hums  his  quiet  tune, 
And  the  low  shiver  of  the  insect's  wing 

Disturbs  the  hush  of  noon. 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  17 

The  thin,  transparent  leaves, 
Like  flakes  of  amber,  quiver  in  the  light, 
While  autumn  round  her  silver  fretwork  weaves 

In  glittering  hoarfrost  white. 

Oh,  autumn,  thou  art  bless'd  ! 
My  bosom  heaves  with  breathless  rapture  here  : 
I  love  thee  well,  season  of  mournful  rest ! 

Sweet  Sabbath  of  the  year!'" 

kl  If  the  poet  had  only  said  '  cheerful  rest'  instead 
of '  mournful  rest,'  he  would  have  spoken  a  higher 
truth.  Autumn  is  the  seasons'  rest  after  the  mission 
of  spring  and  summer  is  accomplished ;  the  time 
when,  having  finished  her  labour  of  love  in  giving 
bountifully  of  her  fruits  to  man  and  those  below 
him  in  the  scale  of  animate  creation,  the  earth 
rests  peacefully  from  her  toil.  The  leaves  and 
flowers  have  not  perished  ;  they  live  still  in  her 
bosom,  as  green,  as  beautiful,  as  fragrant  as  ever, 
and  after  her  Sabbath  of  rest  has  passed  she  will 
give  them  to  us  again.  Is  riot  there  in  all  this, 
Emily,  a  moral  of  sweet  import  ?  Our  days  will 
pass  on,  and  we  shall  arrive  at  the  autumn  of  life, 
the  season  of  rest,  the  Sabbath  of  our  year.  Shall 
it  be  a  cheerful  or  a  mournful  rest?  When  our 
leaves  begin  to  fade  and  drop  away,  one  by  one, 
and  our  branches,  stripped  of  their  beautiful  foliage, 
cut  sharply  the  cold,  clear  sky,  shall  we  feel  that 
the  leaves  and  blossoms  are  still  fresh  and  green 
in  our  bosoms  ?  We  may,  Emily  !  We  shall  live 
in  vain  if  such  be  not  our  experience — if  such  an 
autumn  rest  do  not  await  us — if,  in  the  renewed 
life  we  live  beyond  this  region,  our  leaves  do  not 
again  put  forth  with  a  fresher  greenness." 

By  this  time  the  young  friends  had  passed  the 
grove  of  tall  trees  to  which  Flora  had  alluded  at 
first,  and  were  in  a  little  island  of  green,  through 
B2 


18  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS : 

which  went  rippling  over  white  pebbles  a  nar 
row  brook,  that  farther  on  widened  into  a  lake, 
around  which,  in  the  summer  days,  the  wild  flow 
ers  and  tall  grass  had  gathered.  Now  the  former 
had  all  departed,  and  the  latter  bent  down  until  it 
lay  drooping  upon  the  bosom  of  the  water,  over 
which  floated  many  faded  leaves.  Near  this  lake 
was  a  rustic  seat,  and  here  the  maidens  rested 
themselves,  hand  clasped  in  hand,  and  hearts  im 
pressed  with  the  scene  around  them.  Nature  was 
mirroring  herself  in  their  bosoms  ;  but  to  each  the 
spectrum  was  different.  To  one  it  was  a  well-de 
fined  image,  to  the  other  dim  and  distorted  ;  to 
one  it  was  cheerful,  to  the  other  sad.  One  could 
look  at  nature  with  the  eye  of  poetic  reason,  to  the 
other,  its  hidden  meanings  were  not  revealed. 

"  See,  Flora,"  said  Emily,  pointing  to  the  little  lake, 
and  speaking  in  a  subdued  and  saddened  voice,  "  how 
many  leaves  are  floating  there !  Ah !  how  many 
hopes  will  thus  be  stripped  from  us,  and  fall  as  those 
withered  leaves  have  fallen,  forever  lifeless  !" 

"  Yes.  Emily,  if  our  hopes  regard  nothing  more 
intrinsic  than  leaves — the  graceful,  the  beautiful, 
the  excellent,  the  useful  in  exterior — they  will  fade 
and  fall  when  the  autumn-time  comes,  and  then 
shall  we  be  sad  indeed  ;  but  if,  like  the  tree,  our 
leaves  do  not  exist  for  themselves  alone,  but  to  aid 
the  interior  life  of  our  souls,  to  assist  the  work  of 
fruit-bearing,  we  shall  not  mourn  when  they  are 
stricken  from  our  branches.  Their  work  will  be 
all  done.  The  fruit  will  have  been  gathered,  and 
garnered,  and  then  a  sweet  Sabbath  of  rest  will  be 
our  portion.  The  tree  has  produced  its  fruit,  and 
now  is  about  to  rest  from  its  labours.  It  needs  no 
longer  the  leaves  that  before  reacted  in  externals 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  19 

upon  the  active  life  within,  and  assisted  in  the  de 
velopment,  growth,  and  maturity  of  fruit.  It  there 
fore  casts  them  aside.  Let  us  be  glad  that  it  has 
performed  its  true  use.  Let  us  think  of  the  fruit, 
and  not  of  the  leaves  ;  and,  still  farther,  let  us  see 
in  this  rest  the  regathering  of  its  productive  ener 
gies,  that  shall  again  clothe  its  branches  with  foli 
age,  and  load  them  with  generous  fruit." 

"  Ah,  Flora,  I  wish  I  could  think  and  feel  as 
you  do.  I  wish  I  could  see  a  truth  concealed,  as 
you  do.  beneath  every  object  in  nature — beneath 
every  change  of  her  varying  countenance.  To  me, 
the  cloud  that  veils  the  sky  shuts  out  the  thought 
that  far  above  the  sun  still  shines  in  peerless  splen 
dour.  I  live  too  fully  in  the  present,  and  feel  too 
absorbingly  the  influence  of  the  present.  In  the 
springtime  my  heart  beats  lightly :  when  au 
tumn  comes  I  am  sad.  I  cannot  bid  adieu  to  the 
summer  flowers  and  summer  foliage  without  a  sigh 
of  regret.  The  seasons'  Sabbath  rest,  to  which 
you  have  so  beautifully  alluded,  I  can  think  about. 
I  perceive  that  all  you  say  is  true  ;  but  my  heart 
is  too  sad  at  losing  the  glories  of  summer — in 
missing  the  birds  and  blossoms — to  feel  the  sweet 
confidence  in  the  leaf  and  flowers'  return  that  you 
do,  and  to  be  content  to  await  their  coming  after 
the  dreary  sleep  of  winter  has  passed.  But  see  !" 
and  the  whole  expression  of  the  maiden's  face 
changed — a  light  passed  over  it — "  there  is  Charles 
Whitney.  How  kind  in  him  to  come  all  the  way 
from  the  city  to  cheer  the  loneliness  of  pleasant 
Rose  Hill !" 

Flora  did  not  seem  so  much  delighted  as  her 
companion  ;  but  she  welcomed  the  young  man, 
who  soon  joined  them,  with  cordiality. 


20  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 


CHAPTER  III. 

AN  ATTRACTIVE   LOVER. 

CHARLES  WHITNEY  was  the  son  of  a  New- York 
merchant.  He  had  received  the  very  best  educa 
tion  that  money  could  procure  him ;  but,  as  he 
had  no  settled  aims  in  life  beyond  the  enjoyment  of 
himself  in  all  accessible  ways,  that  education  was 
not  applied  assiduously  to  any  practical  purpose. 
On  leaving  college,  his  father  took  him  into  his 
store,  and  endeavoured  to  initiate  him  into  the  sci 
ence  of  trade ;  but  he  made  little  progress  in  the 
acquirement  of  this  science.  He  could,  it  is  true, 
perform  the  mechanical  operations  required  for 
daybook,  journal,  and  leger  entries — could  take 
off  a  balance  sheet — make  equations — or  do  any- 
'hing  that  brought  into  requisition  the  mathematical 
knowledge  he  had  gained  at  school.  But  out  of 
the  counting-room  he  was  of  little  use.  He  had 
no  fancy  for  a  salesman's  duties.  Where  he  sold 
a  bill  of  five  hundred  dollars,  any  one  of  his  father's 
clerks  would  sell  a  bill  of  as  many  thousands.  To 
illustrate  this,  let  us  give  a  single  example. 

One  morning,  contrary  to  his  habit,  he  was  at  the 
store  earlier  than  any  of  the  young  men  who  acted 
in  the  capacity  of  salesmen.  He  was  leaning  back 
in  an  arm-chair,  with  his  feet  on  a  table,  reading  the 
newspaper,  when  a  country  customer  came  in.  Af 
ter  shaking  hands  with  him,  and  passing  a  few 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  21 

words  of  mere  compliment,  he  asked  the  merchant 
to  go  out  into  the  store  and  look  at  some  goods. 
As  the  purchase  of  goods  was  the  merchant's  busi 
ness,  he  went  with  young  Whitney,  and,  after  ex 
amining  sundry  cases,  both  upon  the  first,  second, 
and  third  floors,  laid  out  goods  to  the  amount  of 
six  hundred  dollars. 

"  Is  there  nothing  else  that  I  can  show  you  ?" 
asked  the  young  man,  when  the  merchant  had 
completed  his  examinations  and  purchases. 

"  Nothing  more,  I  believe,"  was  the  half-thought 
ful  reply. 

No  farther  attempt  was  made  to  show  or  sell 
goods,  and  the  country  merchant,  after  directing 
bills  to  be  made  out,  parted  with  Whitney  at  the 
door  of  the  counting-room.  Just  as  he  was  leaving 
the  store,  the  senior  salesman  intercepted  the  satis 
fied  buyer. 

"  Ah,  good-morning  !  good-morning!  How  are 
you  ?  I  am  really  glad  to  see  you  !"  was  the  warm 
salutation  of  the  salesman,  grasping  the  customer's 
hand,  and  shaking  it  warmly.  "  What  can  I  sell 
you  to-day  ?" 

"  Nothing  more,  I  believe,"  returned  the  mer 
chant.  "  I  have  looked  over  your  stock,  and  laid 
out  all  I  want." 

"  But  we've  a  large  variety  of  the  very  styles  of 
goods  suited  for  your  market.  We  opened  them 
only  yesterday.  I  know  you  haven't  looked  over 
these  already." 

"  Prints,  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I've  seen  them  all,  and  laid  out  the  patterns  that 
I  like  best." 


22  LOVERS    AND   HUSBANDS  : 

"  Did  you  look  at  our  stock  of  berages  ?  We 
have  some  sweet  patterns  among  them." 

"  Yes,  all  of  them." 

"  And  our  fresh  India  goods  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  come  in,  any  how.  You  must  go  over 
our  stock  again.  I  am  certain  you  haven't  seen 
half  of  it." 

And  so,  leading  back  the  customer,  the  salesman 
took  him  through  the  house  again.  When  they 
came  down  from  the  upper  stories  and  into  the 
counting-room,  the  merchant's  bill  was  four  thou 
sand  dollars  instead  of  six  hundred  ;  and,  what 
was  more,  he  had  not  purchased  a  single  piece  of 
goods  that  was  not  wanted  by  him,  and  which  he 
would  not  have  purchased  at  some  other  store. 
The  truth  was,  the  salesman  understood  his  busi 
ness  thoroughly.  He  knew,  just  as  well  as  his 
customer,  the  exact  style  and  quality  of  goods  re 
quired  ;  and  these  he  did  not  leave  him  to  ask  for 
or  hunt  out  for  himself,  but  took  him  at  once  to 
the  case  or  bale  where  they  were  to  be  found.  In 
this  way,  he  secured  to  the  establishment  the  full 
benefit  of  his  customer's  real  wants  as  a  merchant. 

This  shows  the  little  interest  that  was  taken  by 
young  Whitney  in  the  business.  He  could  have 
made  as  good  a  sale  as  the  clerk,  had  he  qualified 
himself  to  do  so,  by  acquiring  the  necessary  in 
formation  in  relation  to  the  wants  of  customers  from 
different  sections  of  the  country.  But  he  did  not 
care  to  do  this.  His  thoughts  were  elsewhere. 
Business  was  a  mere  drudgery,  and  he  attended  to 
it  only  to  satisfy  his  father  and  keep  up  appear 
ances.  It  mattered  but  little  to  him  whether  a 


A   STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  23 

customer  made  a  large  bill  or  a  small  one.  He 
never  thought  of  its  result  upon  the  general  busi 
ness.  Pleasure  was  of  much  more  consequence, 
and  in  the  pursuit  of  this,  he  was  often,  much  too 
often,  away  from  the  store. 

Mr.  Clarence,  the  father  of  Emily,  was  also  oc 
cupied  in  mercantile  pursuits,  though  in  a  different 
branch  from  that  engaged  in  by  Mr.  Whitney.  He 
was  a  man  who,  in  his  eager  pursuit  after  wealth, 
had  neglected  the  interests  of  his  child  so  far  as 
the  judicious  training  of  her  mind,  and  the  gradual 
inculcation  of  true  principles  were  concerned.  He 
sent  her  to  the  best  schools,  and  provided  for  all 
external  accomplishments  to  the  full  extent  that 
money  would  do  so.  Beyond  this  he  thought  but  lit 
tle.  He  had  no  doubt  but  that  his  daughter  would 
get  a  good  husband — that  is,  a  wealthy  and  respect 
able  one,  as  she  deserved.  He  had  made  her  fully 
worthy  of  such  good  fortune,  and,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  he  had  no  doubt  but  that  it  would  come. 
When,  therefore,  young  Whitney  began  to  show 
signs  of  preference  for  Emily,  the  father  was  grati 
fied,  as  might  be  supposed.  Whitney  was  a  very 
desirable  match — all  he  could  wish  for  his  child. 
He  was  well  educated,  handsome,  accomplished, 
of  a  good  family,  and,  more  than  all,  was  in  cir 
cumstances  to  provide  handsomely  for  a  wife. 

To  Emily,  his  attentions,  which,  a  s-hort  time 
before  the  opening  of  our  story,  had  become  quite 
marked,  were  particularly  gratifying.  His  elegant 
figure,  his  polished  manners,  his  fascinating  con 
versation,  had  long  before  won  her  admiration.  It 
was  not  hard  for  this  feeling  to  subside  into  a 
warmer  sentiment ;  and  it  was  rapidly  subsiding. 


24  LOVERS  AND  HUSBANDS: 

On  the  part  of  Whitney,  a  preference  for  Emily 
had  been  a  feeling  that  soon  became  apparent  to 
himself.  The  attractiveness  of  her  manner  and 
the  beauty  of  her  face  made  her  a  general  favour 
ite.  She  was  toasted  by  the  young  men  when  ab 
sent,  and  courted  by  them  when  present.  There 
existed  among  them  a  pleasant  rivalry  for  her  fa 
vour  :  each  one  who  gained  it  in  reality,  or  only 
in  appearance,  making  it  a  matter  to  boast  about 
among  his  companions.  From  these,  Flora,  who 
spent  many  weeks  in  the  city  during  the  winter 
season,  attracted  but  little  attention.  By  some  she 
was  called  "  the  Old  Woman,"  in  allusion  to  her 
plain  appearance  and  quiet  manner  ;  by  others, 
the  "  Little  Quakeress."  But  there  were  a  few  of 
her  own  sex  who  knew  her  and  loved  her,  and  a 
few  of  the  other  sex  who  always  thought  a  place 
by  her  side  a  peculiar  favour.  Once  a  bright  but. 
terfly  of  fashion  came  fluttering  around  her,  care 
lessly  at  first,  but  soon  attracted  by  her  half-con 
cealed  loveliness — the  loveliness  of  heart,  and 
mind,  and  manner,  when  both  were  seen  to  exist, 
the  one  from  the  other,  in  a  beautiful  and  perfect 
series.  He  lavished  upon  her  his  most  devoted 
attentions,  and  soon  asked  her  hand.  He  was 
rich,  educated,  accomplished ;  but  she  declined 
the  offer.  He  was  a  brilliant  lover,  but  had  not 
the  sterling  qualities  required  for  a  good  husband ; 
and  this  she  had  the  common  sense  to  see. 

In  the  plain,  unpolished  Doctor  Arlington,  she 
saw  more  to  really  love  than  in  arty  of  the  showy 
young  men  it  had  been  her  fortune  to  meet  in  the 
city.  Accomplished  herself  thoroughly,  the  doc 
tor's  utter  want  of  external  ease  and  grace  always 


A   STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  25 

slightly  annoyed  her,  especially  when  others  were 
present  to  see  it.  She  would  look  at  him  some 
times,  and  wish,  involuntarily,  that  either  nature 
or  art  had  done  something  more  for  him.  There 
was  good  in  him,  but  it  needed  true  expression 
to  let  it  be  seen  in  its  own  excellence.  When 
they  were  alone,  she  did  not  see  so  much  of  this. 
Then  she  attended  only  to  his  conversation,  which 
was  always  interesting  ;  for  his  mind  was  well 
stored,  and  his  eye  saw,  and  his  heart  felt  the 
beauty  and  sentiment  of  nature.  But  when  she 
met  him  in  the  company  of  others,  especially  with 
young  men  or  women  of  really  polished  exteriors, 
his  awkwardness,  his  shyness,  and  his  embarrass 
ment  annoyed  her.  The  reason  of  this  she  did  not 
know  :  at  least,  it  had  never  come  into  conscious 
thought ;  the  reader  will  not,  perhaps,  deem  him 
self  quite  so  ignorant  on  the  subject. 
C 


26  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS: 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A  DECLARATION. 

"  IT  was  too  lovely  a  day  to  remain  cooped  up 
in  the  city,"  said  Whitney,  after  he  had  joined 
Emily  and  Flora,  "  and  so  I  mounted  Bucyrus 
and  gave  him  the  reins.  The  sagacious  animal 
set  out  direct  for  Rose  Hill,  and  here  I  am,  thanks 
to  the  noble  beast !  I  hope  I  am  welcome  ?" 

"  Yes,  right  welcome,"  returned  Flora,  smiling. 
"  Bucyrus  is  certainly  a  very  sensible  fellow." 

"  That  he  is.  After  this  evidence  of  it,  I  shall 
consider  him  worth  his  weight  in  gold.  He  could 
not  have  done  better  if  he  had  known  my  very 
thoughts." 

"  Perhaps  he  did." 

"  Perhaps  so,  indeed.  Horses  have  minds  ;  that 
is  one  of  my  doctrines." 

"  And,  no  doubt,  was  able  to  read  your  wishes 
in  your  face." 
Exactly." 

Or,"  remarked  Emily,  "  in  your  fingers.  It  is 
wonderful  how,  almost  unconsciously,  our  hands  do 
the  will  of  our  minds." 

«  Yes — yes,  Emily  is  right,"  said  Flora.  "  The 
whole  case  is  clear.  You  gave  Bucyrus  the  rein, 
it  is  true,  but  you  kept  it  in  your  hand,  in  order  to 
check  him,  should  he  start  from  sudden  alarm. 
Your  thoughts  were  on  Rose  Hill,  and  without 
your  knowing  it,  those  thoughts  flowed  down  into 


A    STORY   OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  27 

your  fingers,  and  they  contracted  on  the  reins  in 
voluntarily." 

"  Yes — yes,  that  explains  the  whole  thing.  I  now 
understand  the  matter  perfectly !"  the  young  man 
said,  with  mock  gravity.  "  It  is  wonderful,  is  it 
not  ?"  Then  changing  his  tone  and  manner,  he 
added,  glancing  around  as  he  spoke, 

"  This  is  truly  a  lovely  spot.  A  sylvan  scene, 
and  you  the  nymphs  of  the  place.  '  God  made  the 
country,  and  man  made  the  town,'  is  often  said,  by 
way  of  indicating  the  country's  superior  loveliness. 
I  never  saw  much  force  in  the  saying  until  now. 
The  city  gives  us  nothing  like  this.  We  have  red, 
and  yellow,  and  brown,  and  orange — yea.  even  all 
the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  ou  house  and  roof,  on 
dome  and  spire  ;  but  nothing  like  that  magnificent 
wood  in  its  autumn  robes.  The  seasons  change, 
and  we  hardly  know  it,  except  by  the  heat  or  cold 
of  the  atmosphere  ;  nothing  of  this  is  there — nothing 
of  this  deep  quiet — nothing  of  this  pulsating  still 
ness.  The  breeze  awakens,  but  we  see  not  its 
motions  among  the  leafy  boughs  ;  we  hear  not  the 
song  of  birds,  nor  see  the  bright  waters  of  the 
gliding  stream." 

"  You  could  love  the  country,  then  ?"  Flora  re 
marked. 

"  Yes,  for  a  time,  at  least ;  but,  after  all,  the 
city  has  its  attractions  ;  and  for  me,  1  think,  more 
permanent  ones  than  the  country  can  afford.  There 
is  reality  in  the  city,  and  we  can't  get  along  with 
out  realities.  In  the  country  our  delights  are  too 
pure  and  poetical.  As,  for  instance — let  me  give 
you  some  fine  ideas  on  this  subject  from  an  Ameri 
can  poet : 


28  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

'  Seek  ye  the  solemn  wood, 
Whose  giant  trunks  a  verdant  roof  uprear, 
And  listen,  while  the  roar  of  some  far  flood 
Thrills  the  young  leaves  with  fear  ! 

1  Stand  by  the  tranquil  lake, 
Sleeping  mid  willowy  banks  of  emerald  dye, 
Save  when  the  wild  bird's  wing  its  surface  break, 
Checkering  the  mirror'd  sky ; 

'  And  if  within  your  breast, 
Hallow'd  to  Nature's  touch  one  chord  remain, 
If  aught  save  worldly  honours  find  you  bless'd, 

Or  hope  of  sordid  gain  ; 
'A  strange  delight  shall  thrill, 
A  quiet  joy  brood  o'er  you  like  a  dove  ; 
Earth's  placid  beauty  shall  your  bosom  fill, 

Stirring  its  depths  with  love. 
'  Oh,  in  the  calm,  still  hours — 
The  holy  Sabbath  hours,  when  sleeps  the  air, 
And  heaven  and  earth,  deck'd  with  her  beauteous  flowers, 
Lie  hushed  in  breathless  prayer — 
'  Pass  ye  the  proud  fane  by, 
The  vaulted  aisles,  by  flaunting  folly  trod, 
And,  'neath  the  temple  of  the  uplifted  sky, 
Go  forth,  and  worship  God !' 

"  There  is  the  poetry ;  but  this  don't  always  do 
for  us.  We  can't  always  remain  suspended  far  up 
on  the  wings  of  imagination.  We  have  to  walk 
upon  the  earth  for  the  most  of  our  time." 

Flora  and  her  young  friend  listened  to  all  this, 
yet  affected  by  it  differently ;  the  former  with 
admiration  of  some  of  the  sentiments  uttered,  the 
latter  with  admiration  for  him  who  uttered  them. 
In  varied  conversation  an  hour  passed,  and  then  the 
little  party  returned  to  the  cottage,  Emily  leaning 
upon  the  arm  of  Whitney,  and  listening  to  his 
words  with  a  heart  trembling  in  the  fulness  of  its 
own  delight.  He  was  a  man  well  calculated  to 
win  the  admiration  of  one  who  could  not  look  far 
below  the  surface.  The  exterior  graces  of  his 
mind  were  many,  and  varied  in  their  attractions. 
He  conversed  well  in  French,  and  was  familiar 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  29 

with  the  German  language  and  German  literature. 
He  had  a  taste  for  music,  and  had  cultivated  that 
taste  a  good  deal.  He  sang  with  much  grace  and 
feeling.  In  external  accomplishments  he'  was  a 
perfect  gentleman  ;  but  he  had  no  fixed  aims  in 
life.  Like  the  butterfly,  he  flitted  from  flower  to 
flower,  sipping  honey  j  but,  unlike  the  bee,  he  laid 
not  up  a  store  for  future  use.  As  to  principles,  he 
had  none  that  were  fixed  upon  a  sound,  rational 
basis.  But  this  a  woman  like  Emily  had  not  the 
perception  to  discover.  Herself  governed  more  by 
impulse  than  reason,  she  could  not  estimate  another 
by  a  higher  standard  than  was  in  her  own  mind. 
Still  she  was  a  woman  in  heart ;  she  could  love 
like  a  woman,  tenderly,  deeply,  devotedly.  In  her 
bosom  were  treasures  of  affection,  garnered  up  like 
hidden  waters  in  the  rock.  It  required  only  a  touch 
to  bring  them  forth,  but  when  once  revealed  to  the 
light,  the  fountain  must  gush  unceasingly,  whether 
the  bright  waters  flowed  peacefully  on,  blessing 
and  blessed,  or  were  wasted  where  they  fell.  Ah! 
little  does  fond  woman  dream,  when,  in  the  lovely 
springtime  of  life,  with  everything  around  her  as 
beautiful,  as  innocent  as  her  own  thoughts,  she 
gives  up  all  her  hopes  and  all  her  heart  to  one  she 
loves,  that  so  many  pure  drops  from  the  outburst- 
ing  stream  of  affection  will  fall  upon  the  arid 
ground,  as  in  after  years  she  sadly  finds  have  thus 
fallen  and  sunk  forever  fruitless.  No  man,  as  men 
now  are,  is  able  fully  to  meet  and  reciprocate  a  true 
woman's  love.  The  best,  with  all  their  willingness, 
with  all  their  efforts,  fail.  There  are  deep  places 
of  the  heart  unreached — aching  voids  unfilled.  And 
yet  it  is  wonderful  how  small  a  return  will  seem  to 
C  2 


30  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS! 

satisfy  a  woman,  and  make  her  breast  glow  with 
sunlight.  A  pleasant  word,  a  tender  look,  a  kiss 
of  love — ah !  these  seem  but  small  returns  for  the 
deep  tenderness  that  ever  burns  in  her  bosom  ;  and 
yet,  alas !  too  often  even  these  are  withheld ;  and 
the  selfish,  reserved,  cold,  and  at  times  morose 
"  lord  of  creation,"  comes  in  and  goes  out  daily, 
never  dreaming  that  by  this  very  coldness,  reserve, 
and  moroseness,  he  is  breaking  the  heart  of  her 
who  loves  him  better  than  her  own  life !  But  it  is 
ever  so.  Hundreds,  thousands,  yea,  tens  of  thou 
sands,  are  performing  hourly  and  daily  their  round 
of  duties,  unblessed  by  smiles  that  warm  the  bosom, 
or  words  that  make  the  heart  tremble  with  interior 
joy,  while,  all  unconscious  of  their  cruel  indiffer 
ence,  they  who  provide  fine  houses,  fine  furniture, 
and  fine  garments  for  their  victims,  proudly  imagine 
that  they  are  the  best  of  husbands. 

Maiden — innocent,  loving  maiden  ! — do  not  turn 
away  from  this  picture  now,  or  else  the  time  may 
come  when  you  will  seek  to  turn  from  it,  and  shall 
not  be  able.  When  one  comes  asking  your  love, 
know  well  if  he  be  worthy  of  such  love  as  you  can 
give.  Look  not  alone  at  his  attractive  exterior  ; 
seek  to  know  what  ends  actuate  him.  It  is  the 
loveliness  of  pure,  high  principles  that  remains 
verdant  longest — yea,  forever  verdant.  These, 
and  these  alone,  can  make  you  permanently  happy. 
Without  them,  an  angel's  grace,  an  angel's  form 
would  lose  its  attractions  ;  with  them,  the  plainest 
exterior  soon  grows  beautiful  to  the  eye  of  a  loving 
wife.  Lay  this  up  in  your  heart ;  think  of  it  in  the 
morning,  and  when  your  head  presses  at  night 
your  pillow.  It  may  save  you  from  a  woman's 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  31 

hardest  lot — that  of  being  bound  for  life  to  a  man 
who  does  not  even  try  to  make  her  happy. 

During  the  day,  Flora,  who  saw  that  Whitney 
was  inclined  to  say  things  intended  only  for  Emi 
ly's  ear,  managed  to  leave  her  young  friend  and 
her  lover  alone,  frequently  for  an  hour  and  more 
at  a  time.  These  opportunities  were  improved  by 
the  young  man.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  ask 
of  Emily  her  hand  in  marriage,  which  he  did  du 
ring  one  of  their  walks.  He  was  tremblingly  and 
blushingly  referred,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  her 
parents. 

In  the  afternoon,  Doctor  Arlington  came  over  to 
Rose  Hill  again,  and  spent  a  couple  of  hours.  His 
awkwardness  and  plainness  of  exterior  were  never 
more  annoyingly  apparent  to  Flora  than  they  were 
on  this  occasion,  being  contrasted  with  the  polished 
manners  and  elegant  person  of  Charles  Whitney. 
The  latter  conversed  fluently  on  a  great  variety  of 
subjects,  while  the  former  said  but  little,  and  that 
seemingly  not  to  the  point,  until  a  sentiment  was 
dropped  by  Whitney  that  the  doctor's  conscience 
would  not  let  him  pass  without  correcting.  He 
did  so  at  first  by  merely  objecting  to  it  with  mild 
ness  ;  this  brought  upon  him  quite  an  avalanche  of 
sentences,  uttered  with  great  ease  and  in  well- 
chosen  language.  His  reply  was  brief,  but  much 
to  the  point,  and  given  with  more  than  his  usual 
elegance  of  expression.  Flora  felt  its  force,  and 
so  did  Whitney ;  but  the  latter  rallied  to  the 
charge  with  a  renewed  flourish  of  words.  On  his 
ending  his  argument,  Arlington,  in  a  calm,  collect 
ed,  thoughtful  voice,  laid  down  certain  positions 
bearing  upon  the  subject,  and  from  these  demon- 


32  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

strated,  in  a  beautiful  and  lucid  manner,  the  falla 
ciousness  of  all  that  Whitney  had  said,  showing 
that  he  had  taken  mere  appearances  of  truth  for 
truth  itself.  So  fully  did  he  establish  the  point 
assumed,  that  the  other  had  the  good  sense  to  drop 
the  discussion.  This  little  incident  made  the 
breast  of  Flora  glow  with  pleasure.  A  veil  had 
been  lifted  from  off  the  exterior  of  both  the  young 
men,  and  she  could  see  deeper  beneath  the  sur 
face,  and  estimate  both  by  a  more  correct  standard. 
Doctor  Arlington  seemed  no  longer  awkward  ;  she 
listened  with  more  attention  to  all  he  said,  and 
perceived  more  in  his  words  than  she  had  ever 
before  perceived.  When  he  took  her  hand  at  part- 
ing,  and  held  it  in  his  longer  than  usual,  looking 
her  earnestly  in  the  face  as  he  did  so,  she  felt  her 
heart  flutter  and  her  cheek  burn. 

"  We  shall  always  be  happy  to  see  you  at  Rose 
Hill,  doctor,"  she  said,  her  voice  changed  a  little 
from  its  usually  calm  tone. 

The  doctor  bowed  low,  pressed  her  hand  slightly, 
and  departed.  Emily  had  noticed  this  little  inter 
view  from  the  window,  and,  with  a  maiden's  intu 
ition,  understood  just  what  it  meant. 

"  The  doctor's  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  you, 
Flora,"  she  said,  laughing,  as  her  friend  came  in. 

Flora  could  not  entirely  conceal  her  blushes  at 
this  remark. 

"  I  thought,"  the  other  resumed,  "  that  he  didn't 
come  here  so  often,  unprofessionally,  without  his 
eye  being  upon  somebody.  I  was  vain  enough  to 
suppose,  at  first,  that  I  was  the  object  of  his  re 
gard  ;  but  I  see  that  I  have  been  mistaken.  He 
has  been  looking  past  me." 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  33 

"  The  doctor  is  quite  a  character,"  remarked 
Whitney,  laughing ;  "  but  it  wouldn't  be  a  perfect 
world  if  there  were  no  characters  in  it.  He  has 
his  good  points,  I  suppose,  as  every  one  has,  and 
makes,  no  doubt,  a  capital  country  doctor." 

"  I  have  met  with  city  doctors,  in  my  time," 
Flora  said,  "  with  double  Arlington's  pretensions, 
and  not  half  his  merit.  A  rich  gem  is  sometimes 
concealed  in  a  rude  casket." 

"  Oh,  very  true,"  returned  the  young  man  ;  "  Doc 
tor  Arlington  is  doubtless  a  gem  of  the  very  first 
water." 

There  was  more  in  the  manner  than  in  the 
words  that  displeased  Flora.  The  latter  had  not 
been  spoken  from  a  right  spirit.  She  said  no 
more,  and  the  subject  dropped.  Towards  evening 
Whitney  mounted  Bucyrus,  and  returned  to  the 
city.  The  maidens  were  again  alone. 


34  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 


CHAPTER   V. 

A    WEDDING. 

"  I  AM  the  happiest  creature  alive  !"  Emily  said 
to  her  young  friend,  as  soon  as  Whitney  had  rid 
den  out*  of  sight,  throwing  her  arms  around  Flora's 
neck  and  bursting  into  a  flood  of  joyful  tears. 

Flora  more  than  guessed  the  cause  of  this  ex 
citement  of  Emily's  feelings,  although  she  said,  as 
she  returned  her  embrace,  tenderly, 

"  What  has  occurred  to  make  you  so  happy  ?" 

"  Can't  you  tell  ?"  asked  Emily,  looking  into  the 
other's  face,  with  tears  and  smiles  blending  upon 
her  own  in  rainbow  beauty.  "  Whitney  has  opened 
up  to  me  all  his  heart ;  he  loves  me.  Oh,  what 
more  than  this  could  I  ask  in  life !"  and  she  hid 
her  face  in  her  friend's  bosom,  and  sobbed  for  very 

joy- 
Flora,  while  she  had  reason  for  supposing  that 
such  a  denouement  would  sooner  or  later  take 
place,  was  yet  startled  by  it,  now  that  it  had  come 
upon  her.  She  loved  her  young  friend  like  a  sis 
ter  ;  but  she  did  not  admire  the  character  of  Whit 
ney  ;  she  did  not  believe  that  he  could  make  her 
happy.  She  had  tried  to  speak  out  on  this  subject 
to  Emily  several  times,  in  order  to  guard  her 
against  him ;  but  she  could  not  make  herself  un 
derstood.  Now  the  declaration  had  been  made — 
now  the  die  was  nearly  cast.  She  felt  troubled, 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  35 

and  her  face  showed  that  Emily's  communication 
had  fallen  as  a  shadow  upon  her  mind. 

"  You  do  not  rejoice  with  me  at  this  happy  re 
sult,"  her  young  friend  at  length  said,  lifting  her 
self  up  from  Flora's  bosom,  as  soon  as  she  felt  the 
coldness  with  which  her  words  had  been  received. 
"  Why  is  this  ?" 

"  Have  you  accepted  this  offer  of  Mr.  Whitney's 
hand  ?" 

"  Virtually,  by  referring  him  to  my  parents." 

"  But  not  in  word.  Then  you  are  still  uncom 
mitted,  fully.  I  am  glad  of  that." 

"  Are  you  beside  yourself,  Flora !  What  do  you 
mean  by  such  strange  words  ?" 

"  Frankly,  then,  as  a  true  friend  should  speak,  T 
do  not  think  you  will  be  permanently  happy  as 
the  wife  of  Charles  Whitney." 

"  Your  reason  ?"  briefly  returned  the  maiden. 

"  I  think,  for  one  thing,  that  he  loves  himself  too 
well  ever  to  make  a  woman  happy." 

"  Loves  himself!  How  strangely  you  talk, 
Flora.  No  man  could  love  himself  less  than  he 
does  ;  his  generous  feelings  are  proverbial." 

"  And  yet,  I  never  heard  him  speak  kindly  of 
any  man  in  my  life.  He  sees  defects  quickly ; 
but  good  points  in  character  do  not  seem  to  meet 
his  eye." 

"  You  certainly  must  be  thinking  of  some  one 
else." 

"  No ;  I  was  several  times  in  his  company  last 
winter,  and  observed  him  closely.  He  was  lavish 
even  to  flattery  in  his  praises  of  our  sex,  but  cen 
sorious  in  regard  to  his  own.  This  is  never  a 
good  sign.  But  that  is  not  all.  I  am  satisfied  that 


36  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS : 

all  his  best  points  are  on  the  surface,  and  easily 
seen.  His  mind  does  not  seem  to  rest  upon  a 
good  basis.  He  has  personal  and  intellectual 
beauty ;  but  what  do  you  know  of  his  moral  quali 
ties  ?  High  moral  excellence  does  not  shine  out 
in  every  act,  word,  and  tone,  as  they  should  beam 
forth,  were  they  within  ;  and  without  moral  worth, 
no  man  can  make  a  right-minded  woman  happy. 
This  too  many  have  found  to  their  sorrow  when 
it  was  too  late.  His  constant  habit,  too,  of  com 
plimenting — flattering,  I  should  say — our  sex,  does 
not  look  well.  No  one  flatters  another  who  does 
not  expect  to  gain  some  favour  of  which  he  is  re 
ally  unworthy.  True  worth — true  merit — disdains 
all  art ;  it  is  its  own  all-sufficient  advocate." 

Flora  ceased,  while  her  friend  looked  at  her  in 
silent  astonishment. 

"  What  I  have  said,"  she  resumed,  her  earnest 
manner  changing  into  one  more  quiet  and  subdued, 
"  affects  you,  I  see,  with  surprise.  I  wish  it  were 
not  so.  I  wish  your  mind  could  view  this  whole 
subject  more  calmly.  You  cannot  be  happy  as  a 
married  woman  unless  you  love  your  husband 
with  a  deep,  true,  and  permanent  love,  nor  unless 
he,  in  turn,  loves  you  with  a  like  devotion  ?" 

"  Of  course  not !     That  is  self-evident." 

"  Yes,  it  is  self-evident  to  every  woman's  heart. 
Now  tell  me  why  you  love  Mr.  Whitney." 

"  I  love  him  because  he  is  worthy  of  my  love ; 
for  what  other  reason  could  I  love  him  ?" 

"  In  what  consists  this  worthiness  ?"  pursued 
Flora. 

"  He  is  high-minded,  noble,  intelligent,"  returned 
the  blushing  maiden,  proudly. 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  37 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  high-minded  and  no 
ble  ?" 

"  He  is  above  a  low  action,"  was  replied,  after  a 
slight  pause. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  friend,"  Flora  said,  with  affec 
tionate  earnestness,  "  I  fear  that  in  your  mind  there 
is  no  well-defined  appreciation  of  his  character — 
no  whole  view  of  it,  that  is  the  result  of  a  distinct 
knowledge  of  the  various  qualities  that  make  up 
his  intellect  and  affections ;  and  without  such 
knowledge  of  a  man's  character,  no  experiment 
can  be  more  hazardous  than  for  a  woman  to  enter 
the  marriage  relation.  In  the  matter  of  wedlock, 
a  maiden  should  unite  the  serpent's  wisdom  with 
the  harmlessness  and  innocence  of  the  dove.  It 
is  impossible  to  know  a  man  too  thoroughly." 

"  I  am  not  suspicious.  A  woman's  heart,  like 
the  magnetic  needle,  points  to  its  true  pole.  Rea 
son  is  no  guide  in  love,"  was  the  reply  of  Emily. 
"  I  cannot  look  into  the  mind  of  him  who  tells  me 
that  he  loves  me  truly,  and  see  all  that  is  there. 
I  can  only  question  my  own  heart,  and  be  guided 
by  its  answers.  This  I  have  done  ;  and  it  responds 
joyfully  to  his  words  of  tenderness." 

"  Have  you  never,"  said  Flora,  "  let  your  mind 
rise  into  an  abstract  state,  wherein  you  could  ima 
gine  future  circumstances  and  future  feelings  so 
perfectly  as  to  make  them,  for  a  time,  present?' 

"  Yes,  often." 

"  Then  so  abstract  your  mind  now.  Think  of 
the  time  when  beauty  shall  fade — when  all  exter 
nal  attractions  shall  lose  their  power,  and  see  if 
you  have  a  distinct  perception  of  qualities  in  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Whitney,  that  will  still  hold  your 
D 


38  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

heart  to  him  with  even  a  firmer  love  than  you  had 
before  experienced.  If  this  be  so,  accept  his  offer  ; 
if  not,  beware  how  you  sacrifice  your  heart  upon 
that  shrine." 

But  Emily  could  not  really  understand  her  friend 
• — could  not  so  abstract  her  mind.  Her  eyes  were 
dazzled  by  the  brilliant  qualities  of  her  suiter,  and 
her  heart  trembling  under  the  first  strong  impulses 
of  awakened  love.  Much  more  passed  between 
the  friends  ;  but  enough  has  been  given  to  show 
their  different  characters  and  different  views.  On 
the  next  day.  Emily,  who  had  intended  to  pass  a 
week  or  two  more  in  the  country,  left  for  New-York. 
Whitney's  declaration  of  love  had  stripped  Rose 
Hill  of  its  attractions.  After  her  departure,  Doc 
tor  Arlington  continued  his  visits  regularly,  but 
without  losing  much  of  his  awkward  reserve  in  the 
presence  of  Flora,  who,  however,  managed,  usu 
ally,  to  carry  on  a  conversation  with  him,  that 
always  grew  more  and  more  interesting  as  it  pro 
gressed,  and  the  doctor  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to 
let  his  thoughts  act  freely  and  naturally.  Some 
times  she  would  really  admire  the  beauty,  order, 
and  strength  of  his  mind ;  and  at  other  times  have 
her  own  sense  of  the  chaste  and  elegant  in  manner 
sadly  offended.  Thus  time  wore  on,  until  towards 
Christmas,  when  Flora,  after  repeated  urgent  invi 
tations  from  Emily,  who  had  soon  after  her  return 
to  the  city  accepted  Mr.  Whitney's  offer,  left  Rose 
Hill  to  spend  a  part  of  the  winter  in  New-York. 
Doctor  Arlington  was  at  the  cottage  to  bid  her 
farewell.  He  slightly  pressed  her  hand,  or,  at 
least,  Flora  thought  so,  as  he  shook  it  ;  and  his 
voice  trembled  a  little  as  he  said  "  Good-by ;"  if 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  39 

not,  Flora's  quick  ear  deceived  her.  He  had 
never  before  appeared  to  better  advantage  in  her 
eyes.  She  could  not  help  glancing  back  frequently 
from  the  coach  window,  nor  help  feeling  an  emo 
tion  of  strange  delight,  as  she  observed  him  stand 
ing  in  the  porch  of  her  mother's  cottage,  gazing 
after  the  vehicle  that  was  bearing  her  away  from 
Rose  Hill. 

In  the  city  she  found  much  to  absorb  her  atten 
tion.  Emily's  marriage  was  to  take  place  in  Feb 
ruary,  and  this  afforded  a  topic  of  constant  interest, 
especially  to  Emily  herself,  and  through  her  to 
Flora.  Then  there  was  a  succession  of  brilliant 
parties,  with  the  opera,  to  keep  up  a  pleasing  ex 
citement.  It  is  no  matter  of  great  wonder  that 
Flora's  mind  should  not  very  often  turn  towards 
Rose  Hill  with  a  strong  affection,  except  on  ac 
count  of  her  mother.  If  she  thought  of  the  plain 
country  doctor  at  all,  it  was  with  no  particular  in 
terest.  His  unattractive  exterior  appeared  in  her 
mind  more  unattractive  still  as  contrasted  with  the 
polished  elegance  of  city  beaux,  who  thronged 
every  drawing-room,  and  lavished  upon  herself  and 
others  the  most  assiduous  attentions. 

Among  these  was  a  young  man,  a  member  of 
the  New-York  bar,  named  Allison,  who  was  really 
pleased  with  Flora.  He  was  a  personal  and  inti 
mate  friend  of  Charles  Whitney,  and  had  been 
chosen  by  him  to  act  as  one  of  the  groomsmen  at 
the  approaching  marriage  ceremony.  Flora  was 
to  act  as  bridemaid  to  her  friend  Emily.  All  this 
was  understood  for  many  weeks  before  the  wed 
ding,  which  made  the  intercourse  between  the 
parties  thus  related  more  familiar  than  other  cir- 


40  LOVERS    AND   HUSBANDS  : 

cumstances  would  have  warranted.  The  conse 
quence  was,  that  Allison  had  an  opportunity  not 
only  of  meeting  Flora  frequently,  and  without  re 
serve,  but  of  seeing  her  more  in  her  real  character 
than  any  woman  is  seen  in  society.  The  more 
intimately  he  knew  her,  the  more  highly  did  he 
esteem — it  might  be  said,  love  her. 

Nor  was  Flora  altogether  indifferent  to  the  at 
tractions  presented  by  the  young  attorney.  Al 
most  unconsciously  to  herself,  her  thoughts  would 
turn  towards  him  when  he  was  away,  and  her  heart 
quicken  its  pulsations  the  moment  he  came  into 
her  presence.  His  invitations  to  attend  the  opera 
were  never  declined,  nor  was  the  offer  of  his 
hand  for  a  cotillon  ever  felt  as  obtrusive.  Thus 
the  days  wore  on,  until  winter  drew  towards  its 
close,  when  the  time  came  for  the  celebration  of 
the  marriage  rites  between  Whitney  and  Emily. 
These  passed,  and  also  the  attendant  festivities, 
involving  a  series  of  brilliant  parties,  in  which 
Flora  and  Allison  attracted  much  attention,  and 
caused  many  whispered  allusions  to  the  possible 
result  of  their  intimacy.  To  the  former,  no  winter 
had  passed  so  pleasantly  ;  why,  she  did  not  ven 
ture  to  ask  herself.  The  latter  understood  his 
own  feelings  much  better  ;  he  had  decided  to  offer 
Flora  his  hand.  In  this  he  was  warmly  encour 
aged  by  Whitney,  who  gave  him  the  assurance 
that  there  was  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  as  to  the  suc 
cess  of  his  suit,  promising,  at  the  same  time,  to 
get  his  young  bride  to  sound  her  friend  on  the  sub 
ject,  so  as  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure.  This 
delicate  task  Emily  readily  undertook.  She  was 
alone  with  Flora  one  day,  about  two  weeks  after 


A   STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  41 

her  marriage.  The  topic  of  conversation  turned 
upon  the  bride's  happy  state  of  mind,  and  this 
naturally  enough  opened  the  way  for  her  to  ex 
press  a  wish  to  see  her  friend  speedily  enter  the 
marriage  relation. 

"  I'm  in  no  hurry,"  Flora  returned,  laughing,  while 
the  colour  on  her  cheek  heightened  ;  "  and,  be 
sides,  I  don't  think  I  have  yet  seen  the  man  into 
whose  keeping  I  would  be  willing  to  trust  my  hap 
piness." 

"  I  think  I  know  of  some  who  would  be  very  will 
ing  to  trust  their  happiness  into  your  keeping,"  was 
the  smiling  reply. 

"  Indeed  !  I've  been  making  some  conquests, 
then  1  I  ought  to  feel  flattered,  really  !"  Although 
this  was  said  gayly,  there  was  something  forced 
about  her  manner — an  effort  to  seem  indifferent. 

"  I  know  many  a  girl  who  would  feel  flattered, 
had  she  made  the  impression  you  have  made — at 
least  upon  one  heart  that  has,  till  now,  been  thought 
invulnerable." 

"  And  pray  what  heart  is  that  ?" 

Emily  affected  to  seem  embarrassed  by  this  ques 
tion.  She  was  silent  for  an  instant,  and  then  said, 

"  Perhaps  I  have  gone  a  little  too  far.  A  young 
wife  must  be  careful  how  she  betrays  secrets 
learned  from  her  husband." 

A  remark  like  this  had  a  very  natural  effect  upon 
Flora — that  of  exciting  her  curiosity.  This  was 
shown  in  her  face,  not  by  words. 

"  You  would  give  a  little  finger  to  know  whose 
heart  you  have  broken  !"  Emily  laughingly  said, 
as  soon  as  she  read  Flora's  thoughts  in  her  counte 
nance. 

D2 


42  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

"  No,  not  a  little  finger  quite,"  returned  the 
friend,  smiling. 

"  But  what  would  YOU  give  to  know  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  for  nothing ;"  and  bending 
over  to  the  ear  of  her  friend,  Emily  whispered  the 
name  of  Allison.  Flora  started,  coloured,  and 
looked  confused. 

"  Ah,  ha  !  1  thought  my  calm,  cold  friend  could 
not  withstand  his  attractions  !"  almost  screamed 
Emily,  in  a  transport  of  delight  at  perceiving  these 
evidences  of  Allison's  successful  inroads  upon  her 
heart,  at  the  same  time  throwing  her  arms  around 
Flora's  neck,  and  kissing  her  cheek  with  real  af 
fection. 

Much  to  her  own  surprise,  Flora  found  that  this 
intelligence,  meeting  her  ear  so  unexpectedly, 
caused  a  glow  of  delight  to  fill  her  whole  bosom. 
'  Why  is  this  ?"  she  resolutely  asked  herself, 
arousing  her  mind  up  at  once.  The  pleasure 
Emily's  communication  had  given,  betrayed  both 
to  herself  and  the  fond  young  bride,  was  changed, 
as  soon  as  she  could  begin  to  think,  into  serious 
ness. 

"  What  you  say,"  she  remarked,  with  a  sober 
face,  as  soon  as  she  could  control  herself,  "  sur 
prises  me,  and  throws  my  mind  into  confusion. 
But  perhaps  you  are  only  jesting  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  that  I  am  not !"  Emily  said,  still  with 
animation.  "  Mr.  Allison  has  stated  to  Charles 
freely  the  decided  preference  he  has  for  you,  a 
preference  that  1  have  seen  all  along.  He  is  just 
the  one  for  you.  Charles  says  he  doesn't  know  a 
better  match  among  all  his  acquaintances  ;  and 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  43 

they  are  such  intimate  friends,  too  !  Just  as  inti 
mate  as  you  and  I  are.  Won't  it  be  delightful '" 

"  Won't  what  be  delightful  ?"  Flora  inquired  in 
a  grave  tone. 

Emily  was  thrown  aback  by  the  manner  in 
which  this  question  was  asked.  A  silence  of 
nearly  a  minute  followed,  during  which  both  Flora 
and  her  friend  felt  much  embarrassed.  At  length 
the  former  said,  in  a  firm  voice, 

"  Emily,  I  shall  leave  for  Rose  Hill  to-morrow." 

"  Oh  no,  no  !  You  must  not  think  of  such  a 
thing  for  a  moment !" 

"  Nothing  could  induce  me  to  stay  here  for  a 
day  longer,"  was  Flora's  resolute  reply.  Then 
rising,  she  asked  to  be  permitted  to  retire  to  her 
own  room,  as  she  wished  to  be  alone  for  a  short 
time.  Emily  offered  no  objection,  and  she  left  the 
apartment. 


44  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  MAN  OF   THE   WORLD. 

IT  was  some  time  after  Flora  entered  her  own 
room  before  her  mind  became  sufficiently  com 
posed,  and  her  thoughts  calm  enough  to  enable  her 
to  ascertain  the  true  nature  of  her  own  feelings. 
As  soon  as  she  could  read  her  heart  with  anything 
like  an  accurate  perception  of  its  true  state,  she 
found  that  she  had  been  far  too  well  pleased  with 
Mr.  Allison's  attentions. 

"  Who  and  what  is  he  ?"  was  a  question  that  she 
put  to  herself  with  unflinching  resolution.  The 
answer  was  not  entirely  satisfactory.  He  was  a 
young  man  of  education — his  tastes  had  been  well 
cultivated — his  exterior  was  attractive.  But  of  his 
moral  qualities  she  could  not  speak  from  any  cer- 
fain  knowledge.  Her  heart  plead  for  him  ;  but 
reason  was  not  satisfied,  and  reason's  voice  con 
firmed  her  first  perception  of  a  right  course,  which 
was  to  return  at  once  to  Rose  Hill,  and  there,  en 
tirely  removed  from  his  society,  and  from  the  half- 
bewildering  excitement  of  a  city  life  passed  amid 
a  round  of  festivities,  weigh  the  whole  subject  dis 
passionately.  In  her  mother's  judgment  she  had 
the  highest  confidence,  and  on  this  judgment  she 
determined  to  repose  if  Allison  pressed  his  suit,  as 
Emily's  words  led  her  to  believe  that  he  would. 

As  she  had  declared,  so  she  acted.  On  the  even- 
vng  of  the  next  day  she  was  with  her  mother  at 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  45 

Rose  Hill.  On  the  same  evening  Allison  called 
in  to  see  her  at  the  newly-arranged  dwelling  of 
Charles  Whitney  and  his  young  wife.  The  former 
sat  alone  in  one  of  their  handsome  parlours. 

"  Ah,  good-evening,  good-evening,  Allison  !"  said 
Whitney,  taking  his  friend's  hand :  "  you  are  just 
too  late  ;  the  bird  has  flown." 

"  How  ?" 

"  Flora  is  at  Rose  Hill  long  before  this." 

"  At  Rose  Hill !"  said  Allison,  with  surprise  and 
chagrin.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?" 

"  Emily  hinted  to  her  that  you  felt  something 
like  a  preference  for  her,  and  she  fluttered  off  in 
instant  alarm  !" 

"  George  !  but  that  is  a  good  sign  ;  don't  you 
think  so  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — perhaps  it  is  ;  but  Flora  is  an 
odd  creature,  and  apt  to  get  crotchets  into  her 
head  ;  and,  what  is  worse,  these  crotchets  are  too 
apt  to  stick  there." 

"  What  is  your  opinion  about  the  matter  as  it 
now  stands  ?  Or,  what  is  your  wife's  opinion  ? 
that  is  worth  a  dozen  of  yours." 

"  My  own  opinion  is,  that  it's  a  little  ruse — an 
attempt  to  play  shy,  to  see  if  you  think  her  worth 
taking  some  trouble  to  secure.  I  have  always 
thought  her  as  proud  as  Lucifer  himself ;  and  with 
a  little  something  hanging  to  one  corner  of  her 
heart,  shaped  like  an  icicle." 

"  But  your  wife's  opinion  ?  I  wouldn't  give  a 
snap  for  yours  when  hers  is  to  be  had.  What 
does  she  think  ?" 

"  She  ?  Why,  she  thinks  you  can  win  Flora 
easily  enough  if  you  will  follow  her  up." 


46  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS! 

"  She  does  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  that's  her  opinion." 

"  And  mine  too  ;  but  plague  take  the  girl !  there 
was  no  use  in  her  flying  off'  at  a  tangent.  I  don't 
see  any  sense  in  that." 

"  He  that  wins  Flora  Elton  must  woo  her  ;  don't 
you  say  so,  Emily  ?" 

The  young  wife  entered  at  this  moment. 

"  Say  what  ?"  asked  Emily,  after  she  had  briefly 
greeted  Allison. 

"  That  whoever  wins  Flora  must  woo  her  ?" 

"  Certainly.  No  maiden  is  won  before  she  is 
wooed." 

"  How  in  the  world  came  you  to  let  your  friend 
run  away  in  such  a  hurry  ?"  Allison  now  said, 
smiling,  and  in  a  less  concerned  voice. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  was  the  reply,  "  Flora  is  a 
resolute  little  body,  and  when  she  makes  up  her 
mind  to  do  a  thing,  all  the  world  couldn't  stop  her. 
She  took  it  into  her  head  all  at  once  that  she  would 
go  back  to  Rose  Hill.  I  coaxed,  and  persuaded, 
and  scolded,  but  it  was  all  to  no  purpose.  Home 
she  had  determined  to  go,  and  home  she  went." 

"  Rose  Hill  ?     How  far  is  that  from  the  city  ?" 

"  About  five  miles." 

"  In  New-Jersey  V 

"  Yes." 

"  I  must  call  on  her,  then,  at  Rose  Hill,  I  sup 
pose.  Do  you  think  I  would  be  welcome  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  Everybody  receives  a  warm  wel 
come  at  'Rose  Hill.  But  there  is  a  rival  there  !" 
Emily  laughed  as  she  said  this. 

"  Indeed !"  ejaculated  Allison,  looking  half 
alarmed.  "  A  formidable  one  ?" 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  47 

"  That  I  can  hardly  tell.  You  never  know  ex 
actly  how  to  take  Flora.  If  it  was  any  other  girl, 
I  should  hardly  think  a  booby  of  a  country  doctor 
to  be  feared  as  a  rival,  where  you  came  into  the 
field." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  compliment !  But  who 
or  what  is  this  booby  of  a  country  doctor,  as  you 
call  him  ?" 

"  He  is  just  what  I  have  called  him.  The  term 
'  booby'  expresses  the  idea  capitally  ;  but  if  you 
wish  me  to  be  more  explicit,  I  will  say,  that  of  all 
the  awkward,  ungainly,  boorish-looking  fellows  that 
I  have  met  in  civilized  society,  Doctor  Arlington 
bears  off  the  palm." 

"  And  he,  you  think,  is  a  rival  ?" 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  so  ;  but  still,  it  is  true  that 
Flora  would  never  let  me  laugh  at  him  without 
bestowing  on  me  a  lecture  for  my  pains." 

"  Does  he  visit  her  regularly  ?" 

"  As  clockwork." 

"  With  serious  intentions  ?" 

"  No  doubt  in  the  world  of  it ;  but,  of  course, 
he  cannot  stand  a  moment's  chance  if  you  seriously 
contend  for  her  favour." 

"  That  I  intend  doing  in  right  good  earnest." 

"  I  hope  you  will.  I  should  never  get  over  it  in 
the  world  if  she  were  to  throw  herself  away  upon 
such  a  fellow  as  that  Arlington.  She  is  too  lovely 
a  girl  to  be  sacrificed  thus.  But  if  you  address 
her,  I  have  no  doubt  of  your  success.  My  word 
for  it,  a  lovelier  one  than  she — lovely  in  mind 
especially — is  not  numbered  among  either  your  ac 
quaintances  or  mine." 

"  So  I  think,"  returned  Allison.     "  From  the 


48  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

first  she  interested  me.  A  more  intimate  acquaint 
ance  has  only  made  apparent  new  features  of  love 
liness,  that  are  more  attractive  than  those  at  first 
seen." 

"  And  the  longer  and  more  intimately  you  know 
her,  the  more  she  will  charm  you.  Flora  is  one 
who  wears  well.  Her  best  points  are  not  at  first 
seen — are  not,  it  seems  to  me,  ever  all  seen. 
Each  recurring  day  shows  something  new  to  ad 
mire." 

This  only  had  the  effect  to  stimulate  Allison  in 
the  pursuit  of  Flora.  He,  as  may  have  been  seen, 
was  indulging  for  her  more  than  a  mere  passing 
preference.  As  has  been  already  stated,  he  was 
a  young  attorney,  in  practice  at  the  New-York 
bar.  His  family  was  reputable  and  wealthy,  and 
he  an  only  son.  Great  expense  had  been  lavished 
upon  his  education  by  his  father,  who  felt  ambi 
tious  that  his  son  should  become  distinguished  in 
some  way.  The  young  man  promised  well — that 
is,  promised  to  become  eminent  as  a  man  of  talents. 
Inheriting  from  his  father  a  love  of  distinction,  he 
was  stimulated  to  application  and  activity  in  his 
profession,  by  the  hope  of  one  day  occupying  in 
the  eye  of  his  country  a  high  position.  Already 
he  was  beginning  to  rise  above  the  struggling,  but 
less  gifted  mass  of  young  attorneys — already  he 
had  been  alluded  to  in  warm  terms  of  commenda 
tion  by  some  of  the  newspapers.  These  indica 
tions  of  success  flattered  his  vanity,  quickened  the 
energies  of  his  mind,  and  confirmed  him  in  his 
already  well-formed  resolution  to  stand  high  in  the 
estimation  of  his  countrymen — not  as  a  benefactor, 
but  as  a  man  of  distinguishing  talents 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  49 

Like  that  of  the  great  mass,  his  ambition  regard 
ed  his  own  glory,  not  his  country's  good,  and  therein 
lay  his  danger.  A  genuine  love  of  country  will 
sustain  a  man,  no  matter  how  high  his  elevation, 
as  it  sustained  the  great  and  good  Washington, 
amid  the  strongest  trials  ;  but  mere  self-love,  after 
it  has  carried  a  man  up  to  a  pinnacle  of  the  tem 
ple  of  fame,  will,  like  another  Satan,  tempt  him  to 
cast  himself  down  headlong,  and  too  often,  alas ! 
with  success  ;  but  no  promised  angels  bear  him 
up  ;  he  is  dashed  in  pieces  by  the  fall. 

The  end  which  Allison  set  before  him  being  his 
own  elevation,  for  the  sake  of  the  honour  that  would 
become  his  due,  he  regarded  all  the  means  to  the 
attainment  of  that  end  which  could  be  used  as  per 
fectly  legitimate.  It  made  no  difference  to  him 
whether  a  cause  that  came  into  his  hands  was 
clearly  just  or  clearly  unjust.  Indeed,  the  worse 
the  cause,  the  more  willing  was  he  often  to  under 
take  it ;  for  then  he  had  the  chance  of  displaying 
the  force  of  his  talents,  and,  by  that  mere  force, 
turning  even  the  course  of  justice  aside.  To  gain 
a  just  cause  was  not,  in  his  estimation,  half  so 
creditable  as  to  gain  a  bad  one.  In  the  former, 
he  had  in  his  favour  the  court's  common  sense  of 
justice  ;  but.  in  the  latter,  he  had  to  put  down  by 
sophistical  reasonings  that  common  sense  of  justice, 
or  so  obscure  it  that  it  could  no  longer  clearly  dis 
criminate  the  right  from  the  wrong.  Nor  had  he 
much  clearer  perceptions  in  regard  to  his  duties 
in  ordinary  society  ;  or,  to  speak  more  correctly, 
as  a  man  acting  out  of  the  sphere  of  his  regular 
calling.  The  gratification  of  something  in  himself 
was  always  a  governing  end.  Thus,  in  the  prefer- 
E 


50  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS : 

ence  he  felt  for  Flora,  there  was  no  thought  of 
mutual  happiness — no  careful  scanning  of  his 
ruling  loves  and  hers,  to  see  if  there  could  be  that 
true  unity  between  them,  whose  natural  products 
is  mutual  happiness.  What  really  captivated  him 
was  her  strong,  discriminating  mind,  which  had 
been  well  educated.  He  looked  confidently  to  a 
high  position  in  society,  and  he  wanted  a  wife 
who  could  do  her  husband  credit  as  an  intellect 
ual  and  accomplished  woman.  Flora,  he  soon 
perceived,  was  fit  to  shine,  and  that  with  lustre, 
place  her  as  high  as  he  could ;  and  this  was  his 
leading  inducement  in  determining  to  secure  her 
hand.  Those  who  have  true  ideas  in  regard  to 
marriage  can  readily  determine  how  far  such  an 
end,  as  the  leading  one,  could  produce  happiness 
between  two  partners. 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  51 


CHAPTER   VII. 
FLORA'S  TWO  SUITERS. 

ON  the  evening  after  Flora's  return  to  Rose  Hill, 
Doctor  Arlington  called  over  to  see  her.  Never 
had  he  before  appeared  in  her  eyes  to  less  advan 
tage.  The  plainness  of  his  exterior  seemed  plainer 
than  ever  ;  his  manners  more  awkward  ;  his  speech 
less  elegant.  She  felt  embarrassed  while  he  stayed, 
and  conversed  with  less  freedom  and  interest  than 
she  had  ever  done  before.  His  departure  was  felt 
as  a  great  relief. 

To  her  mother  she  had  not  yet  confided  the  real 
cause  of  her  sudden  return  from  the  city.  She 
hardly  knew  how  to  do  so.  Mr.  Allison  had  not 
made  overtures  to  her;  nor  was  there  about  Emi 
ly's  communication  a  definiteness  that  could  be  re 
lied  upon.  Half  regretting  her  hasty  return,  she 
retired  early  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  For  hours 
she  lay  awake,  deeply  pondering  the  new  position 
in  which  she  found  herself.  The  longer  she 
thought — thinking,  as  she  did,  too  fully  from  her 
predominant  feelings,  and  not  above  them — the 
more  was  she  inclined  to  favour  the  advances  of 
the  young  attorney.  His  personal  accomplish 
ments,  which  were  of  a  high  order,  claimed  her 
fullest  admiration  ;  and,  like  too  many,  she  suffered 
herself  to  fall  into  just  the  error  she  had  not  many 
months  before  condemned  in  her  friend  Emily,  that 
of  inferring  from  a  fair  exterior  the  existence  of 


52  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

true  principles.  When  she  at  last  fell  away  into 
sleep,  it  was  with  the  image  of  Allison  pictured 
pleasantly  upon  her  mind,  where  it  still  lingered 
through  the  night-watches,  the  presiding  genius  of 
sweet  dreams. 

In  the  morning  she  felt  less  inclined  than  ever 
to  open  her  heart  to  her  mother,  for  fear  that  her 
colder  mind  might  quickly  find  reasons  for  a  pru 
dent  suspension  of  favourable  impressions,  until  the 
character  of  the  young  man  were  more  fully  known. 
This  her  own  judgment  told  her,  as  it  had  told  her 
at  first,  was  the  only  safe  course,  and  this  course 
she  intended  to  pursue  ;  but  she  was  afraid  that 
her  mother  would  endeavour  to  make  her  pursue 
it  too  rigidly,  and,  therefore,  felt  as  if  she  would 
rather  not  yet  open  up  her  whole  mind.  That  day 
passed,  and  the  next  morning  came.  Soon  after 
breakfast  a  letter  from  Emily  was  brought  to  her. 
She  retired  to  her  own  room,  and  there  broke  the 
seal.  It  read  thus  : 

"  MY  DEAR  FLORA — Everybody  is  asking  why 
you  have  left  for  Rose  Hill  so  suddenly.  What 
shall  I  say?  What  can  I  say?  I  know  the  true 
reason  ;  but  it  will  not  do  to  tell  that.  Allison  is 
surprised  and  troubled.  He  intends  riding  over 
to  see  you ;  but  hadn't  you  better  return  ?  He  is 
serious  in  the  regard  he  feels  for  you,  and,  I  think, 
is  eminently  worthy  of  your  hand.  But  this  you 
will  have  to  decide  for  yourself;  and,  in  doing  so, 
you  ought  to  have  the  very  best  opportunities  for 
forming  a  correct  judgment.  This  you  cannot  do 
if  you  remain  where  you  are,  and  see  him  only 
occasionally.  If  he  is  in  all  things  such  as  your 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  53 

heart  can  approve,  you  ought  to  know  it ;  and  if 
not,  it  is  just  as  necessary  for  you  to  know  the 
truth,  that  you  may  decide  for  yourself  from  clear 
rational  convictions.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen 
how  disappointed  he  was  when  we  told  him  that 
you  had  gone  home.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  you  had  interested  him  more  than  any  one  he 
had  ever  seen,  and  that  the  loss  of  your  society 
would  be  felt  as  no  ordinary  privation.  The  fact 
is,  dear,  you  have  fully  made  a  conquest  of  him ; 
he  is  yours  if  you  will  take  him  ;  and  if  you  do 
not,  I  shall  think  you  the  strangest  girl  I  have 
ever  known.  Won't  you  come  back  to  the  city  ? 
Do,  just  for  my  sake.  I  can't  tell  how  much  I 
miss  you.  Nothing  seems  to  me  as  it  did.  Write 
me  immediately,  and  say  when  we  shall  see  you, 
or  bring  an  answer  to  this  yourself.  Ever  your 
friend,  EMILY." 

Flora  read  over  this  letter  twice  before  she  fully 
understood  it.  The  first  reading  threw  her  mind 
into  confusion.  It  was  only  after  the  second  pe 
rusal  that  she  could  compose  her  thoughts.  But 
even  after  thinking  for  an  hour,  with  a  mind  tolera 
bly  clear,  she  was  unable  to  determine  how  she 
ought  to  act.  To  return  to  New-York,  after  having 
left  it  as  she  did,  presented  itself  to  her  as  un- 
maidenly  ;  her  delicacy  of  feeling  shrunk  from  it ; 
it  would  be  like  courting  the  attentions  of  Mr.  Al 
lison  ;  but  her  inclination  to  do  so  was  active,  and 
furnished  its  reasons,  which  were  strongly  urged. 
At  length  she  sat  herself  down  to  reply  to  Emily's 
letter.  Among  other  things,  she  said, 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  go  back  to  New-York 
E  2 


54  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS'. 

for  at  least  some  weeks.  I  want  time  for  reflec 
tion.  I  cannot  conceal  from  myself  that  Mr.  Al 
lison  has  made  more  than  a  mere  favourable  im 
pression  upon  me.  This  is,  of  course,  for  your 
own  ear  alone.  This  confession  you  must  keep 
even  from  your  husband.  A  wife  may  hold  sacred 
the  heart-secrets  of  her  maiden  friends,  without 
any  violation  of  mutual  confidence.  Perhaps,  after 
the  time  I  have  mentioned  has  elapsed,  I  may  re 
turn  to  you  again  ;  but  I  am  unable  now  to  speak 
with  certainty.  In  the  mean  time,  I  want  my  mind 
to  remain  as  calm  and  clear  as  possible.  I  want 
to  know  truly  the  nature  of  my  own  feelings." 

Emily  did  riot  deem  the  concealment  of  her 
friend's  secret  from  her  husband  a  very  sacred  ob 
ligation,  and  he  was  in  no  way  scrupulous  about 
informing  Allison  of  the  admission  made  in  his  fa 
vour.  The  latter  had  changed  his  mind  about  go 
ing  immediately  to  Rose  Hill,  it  having  been  de 
termined  that  Emily  should  first  write,  and  thus  a 
knowledge  of  Flora's  real  sentiments  be  obtained. 
This  knowledge  being  now  in  his  possession,  Al 
lison  could  determine  for  himself  how  to  act.  In 
stead  of  adopting  an  open,  manly  course,  and  visit 
ing  Flora  at  Rose  Hill  without  any  disguise,  he 
spent  several  days  in  studying  the  best  method  of 
approaching  her.  During  this  time  he  had  fre 
quent  interviews  with  the  husband  of  Emily,  and 
with  Emily  herself. 

"  If  I  visit  her  at  Rose  Hill  immediately,"  he 
said  to  the  latter,  while  he  was  now  yet  undeter 
mined  how  to  act,  "  I  may  seem  to  her  too  anxious 
to  press  my  suit ;  or,  were  I  to  do  so,  her  delicacy 
of  feeling  might  prevent  her  returning  to  the  city 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  55 

as  then  the  appearance  would  be  that  she  did  so 
in  order  to  meet  me  more  frequently.  Besides,  if 
I  seem  indifferent  towards  her,  the  thought  of  this 
indifference  may  act  as  a  foil  to  the  preference  she 
has  confessed,  and  make  it  much  more  distinct  in 
her  own  mind.  What  do  you  think  1" 

Emily's  thoughts  were  not  decided  on  the  sub 
ject,  and  she  could  not,  therefore,  advise. 

"  I  believe  I  had  better  hold  off  a  while,  at  all 
events,"  was  the  conclusion  of  Allison.  "  In  the 
mean  time,  do  you  keep  up  a  constant  correspond 
ence  with  her ;  and,  above  all  things,  try  and  get 
her  back  to  the  city." 

"  Trust  me  for  that.  Perhaps  you  are  right  in 
deciding  not  to  visit  her  in  the  country.  Her  mind 
is  delicate.  To  do  so  might  cause  her  to  remain 
there,  for  fear  her  coming  to  the  city  might  be 
thought  to  be  for  the  purpose  of  throwing  herself 
into  your  company." 

Tact,  not  an  open,  high-rninded  course  of  action, 
was  finally  resolved  upon.  It  proved  successful. 
Emily  soon  ceased  to  speak  of  Allison  in  her  al 
most  daily  letters  to  her  friend,  but  never  omitted 
to  urge  strenuously  her  return  to  the  city,  for  a 
few  weeks  at  least,  if  no  more.  The  solicitations 
of  her  friend,  strongly  seconded  by  her  own  incli 
nations,  prevailed.  Flora  went  back  to  New- York 
in  about  ten  days  after  her  sudden  withdrawal  from 
gay  city  life.  During  the  time  of  her  stay  in  the 
country,  Doctor  Arlington  visited  her  several  times, 
but  soon  perceived  a  change  in  her.  She  was  not 
so  kind  a  friend,  nor,  to  him,  so  agreeable  a  com 
panion  as  she  had  formerly  been.  This  he  natu 
rally  attributed  to  the  influence  upon  her  mind  of 


56  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  '. 

the  winning  allurements  of  society  in  a  city  like 
New- York.  To  city  scenes,  a  quiet  country  life 
and  quiet  country  friends  contrasted  too  strongly. 
They  could  not  satisfy  a  mind  which  the  former 
had  filled  with  delight. 

The  change  in  Flora's  manner  was  sensibly  felt 
by  Arlington,  who  had  for  her  a  well-based  affec 
tion  ;  for  it  was  grounded  in  a  thorough  apprecia 
tion  of  her  moral  and  intellectual  qualities.  Nothing 
had  been  said  to  him  by  Flora  of  her  intended  re 
turn  to  New-York,  although  he  visited  her  on  the 
evening  previous  to  her  departure.  On  the  day 
subsequent  to  that  on  which  she  left,  the  doctor 
again  called  in  at  Rose  Hill.  His  manifestation 
of  surprise  on  learning  that  Flora  was  in  New- 
York,  gave  the  mother  a  more  accurate  knowledge 
of  his  feelings  than  she  had  before  possessed. 
She  was  not  displeased  at  this,  for  she  knew  him 
well,  and  understood  his  real  worth.  The  reason 
of  her  daughter's  return  was,  she  supposed,  the 
urgent  solicitations  of  the  young  bride,  from  whom 
a  letter  had  come  almost  every  day.  Of  the  real 
cause  she  had  no  suspicion.  A  whisper  of  that 
would  have  awakened  great  concern. 

Arlington  really  loved  Flora  ;  but  it  was,  with 
him,  no  suddenly-inspired  sentiment.  For  a  year 
and  more  he  had  looked  at  her  attentively,  and 
marked  the  unfolding  beauties  of  her  mind.  Her 
strong  good  sense,  her  quick  appreciation  of  the 
beautiful  in  external  nature,  her  love  of  truth,  her 
entire  freedom  from  maidenly  arts  and  affectations, 
had  for  him  a  charm,  and  gave  to  their  possessor 
the  uppermost  place  in  his  affections.  From  ad 
miration  of  these  qualities  in  her  mind,  the  transi- 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  57 

tion  to  love  of  her  person  for  their  sakes  was  easy 
and  natural.  But  Arlington,  at  the  same  time  that 
he  could  duly  appreciate  and  ardently  love  a  be 
ing  like  Flora  Elton,  was  towards  the  whole  sex, 
for  whom  he  had  a  profound  regard,  amounting  al 
most  to  admiration,  timid  and  bashful.  He  never 
came  into  their  presence  that  his  mind  did  not  lose 
its  calm,  even,  philosophic  tone.  This  rendered 
him  awkward  and  very  uninteresting  ;  and,  as  the 
reader  has  seen  in  the  case  of  Emily,  subjected 
him  often  to  ridicule  :  though  it  is  but  justice  to 
say  that  Emily's  description  of  him,  when  she 
chose  to  allude  to  his  manners  and  appearance, 
were  exaggerations. 

The  sudden  and  unannounced  return  of  Flora  to 
New- York  caused  Doctor  Arlington  much  pain  of 
mind.  He  very  naturally  came  to  the  true  con 
clusion,  strengthened  by  the  indifference  of  her 
manner  towards  him,  that  her  affections  had  been 
interested  while  in  the  city,  and,  influenced  by 
these,  she  had  gone  back,  to  be  near  their  object. 
As  best  he  could,  he  solaced  himself  in  this  state 
of  uncertainty,  steadily  discharging  all  the  while 
the  duties  of  his  calling  with  unabated  skill.  No 
one  saw  that  there  was  anything  upon  the  mind  of 
the  quiet  doctor,  as,  answering  the  calls  upon  him, 
he  went  from  house  to  house,  administering  to  the 
maladies  which  Providence  had  permitted  to  reach 
the  bodies  of  his  patients  ;  and  no  one  received 
fewer  attentions,  or  had  medicinal  prescriptions  of 
a  less  accurate  nature,  because  the  mind  of  the 
physician  was  not  so  tranquil  as  before.  The  rea 
son  was,  because  Doctor  Arlington  was  governed 
in  all  the  relations  of  life  by  strictly  conscientious 


58  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  '. 

principles.  No  pain  of  mind  that  he  might  suffer 
could  make  him  neglect  his  duty.  That  was  his 
fello\v-man's  inalienable  right,  and  he  never  with 
held  it ;  to  have  done  so  would  have  been  a  crime 
of  equal  magnitude  with  theft — would,  in  fact,  have 
been  theft,  in  intention  and  effect.  In  such  a  dis 
charge  of  duty,  there  was  a  compensating  effect. 
In  it,  he  found  much  to  soften  the  pain  which, 
when  not  thus  engaged,  he  naturally  felt. 

As  for  Flora,  she  met  Mr.  Allison,  on  her  re 
turn  to  New-York,  with  shrinking  modesty,  and 
yet  with  a  heart-warm  glow  of  pleasure.  She 
knew  that  he  loved  her  ;  for  that  had  been  de 
clared  to  Emily,  and,  as  the  reader  knows,  at 
once  communicated  by  that  too  officious  friend. 
His  appearance,  manners,  tones,  sentiments,  all 
had  for  Flora  new  charms  ;  she  looked  upon 
him  with  new  eyes  ;  her  naturally  cautious,  dis 
criminating  character — her  disposition  to  look  at 
qualities  rather  than  appearances — no  longer  ex 
isted,  or,  at  least,  only  in  a  passive  state.  He 
seemed,  in  her  eyes,  perfection.  But  why  ?  That 
question  had  not  yet  been  seriously  asked. 

Every  evening  found  him  by  her  side,  either  in 
the  quiet  parlours  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whitney,  or  in 
public  assemblies,  prosecuting  his  suit  with  tact 
and  caution.  He  endeavoured  to  avoid  awakening 
her  clear  judgment  by  too  direct  advances,  prefer 
ring  to  throw  over  her  heart  toil  after  toil,  until  he 
should  be  sure  of  a  conquest  when  the  time  came 
to  push  at  once  for  victory.  Within  the  charmed 
sphere  that  Allison  had  thus  thrown  around  her, 
Flora's  strong  mind  lay  almost  passive,  suffering 
her  heart  to  rule  all  her  conduct.  That  she  was 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  59 

deeply  interested  in  him,  she  did  not  attempt  to 
conceal  from  herself;  nor  was  she  unconscious  of 
the  willingness  she  felt  to  accept  his  hand,  if  he 
should  offer  himself. 

The  present  position  of  our  characters  will  ena 
ble  us  now  to  introduce  one  or  two  more  actors, 
whose  influence  upon  subsequent  incidents  is  im 
portant.  This  will  be  done  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN   EVIL   DEED. 

THERE  dwelt  in  a  quiet,  retired  way  in  New- 
York,  a  widow,  Mrs.  Harper  by  name,  her  only 
child  a  daughter  fourteen  years  of  age.  Their 
means  of  subsistence  was  the  rent  of  two  houses, 
that  gave  them  an  annual  income  of  one  thousand 
dollars  a  year.  A  house  adjoining  these  two  was 
also  owned  by  Mrs.  Harper  ;  in  this  they  lived. 
While  Mrs.  Elton  resided  in  New-York,  she  had 
been  on  terms  of  close  intimacy  with  this  lady. 
The  daughter  of  the  latter  and  Flora  had  likewise 
been  fast  friends.  During  her  stay  in  the  city,  she 
visited  Anne  Harper  and  her  mother  very  frequently, 
and  often  spent  with  them  many  days  at  a  time. 

On  calling  in,  one  morning,  about  a  week  after 
her  return  to  New- York,  she  found  Mrs.  Harper 
and  Anne  in  evident  trouble  of  mind.  Her  inti 
macy  warranted  inquiries  a*s  to  the  cause,  which 
were  made  at  once,  when  she  received  for  answer, 


60  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

that  a  technical  defect  in  the  title  by  which  the  lit 
tle  all  they  possessed  in  the  world  was  held  had 
been  discovered,  arid  that  a  suit  had  been  brought 
against  them  in  order  to  test  the  validity  of  their 
claim  to  the  property.  This  suit  Mrs.  Harper  had 
all  along  believed  would  not  be  prosecuted  ;  but 
she  had  just  learned  that  it  would  come  before 
the  court  in  a  few  days,  and  that,  as  one  of  the 
most  subtle  young  lawyers  at  the  bar  had  been 
well  feed  to  press  it  vigorously,  there  was  great 
danger  of  her  losing  every  dollar  she  had  in  the 
world. 

This  intelligence  caused  Flora  much  distress  of 
mind.  Deeply  and  tenderly  did  she  sympathize 
with  her  old  friends  in  the  danger  that  threatened 
them.  From  all  she  could  learn  from  Mrs.  Harper, 
it  was  plainly  apparent  that  a  great  wrong  was  in 
tended  her.  The  title  deeds  which  she  possessed 
set  forth,  that  when  her  husband  had  paid  to  the 
father  of  the  prosecutor  certain  sums  of  money,  the 
full  value  of  the  property,  that  he  would  come  into 
undisputed  possession  of  the  same.  The  receipts 
for  these  sums  of  money  Mrs.  Harper  could  ex- 
.dbit;  and  yet,  in  the  final  release  of  the  property, 
which  had  remained  under  mortgage  until  the 
whole  of  the  purchase  money  was  paid,  there  was 
an  informality  which  legally  vitiated  the  title. 
The  son  of  the  original  owner  of  the  property,  a 
man  known  throughout  New- York  as  a  heartless 
oppressor,  wherever  oppression  would  bring  him 
the  god  he  worshipped — gold — had,  by  some  acci-. 
dent,  discovered  the  flaw  in  Mrs.  Harper's  title  to 
property  which  had  greatly  increased  in  value  since 
it  had  passed  from  his  father's  hands.  The  knowl- 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  61 

edge  of  this  fact  was  followed  by  the  instant  de 
termination  to  make  a  resolute  effort  to  gain  pos 
session  of  the  widow's  three  houses.  For  some 
time  he  weighed  in  his  own  mind  the  relative 
merits  of  two  attorneys,  as  fitted,  both  in  disposi 
tion  and  ability,  to  undertake  such  a  cause.  There 
were  men  at  the  bar  in  New-York  to  whom  he 
would  no  more  have  thought  of  offering  the  case 
tnan  of  asking  them  to  share  in  the  results  of  a 
premeditated  robbery  ;  but  he  had  come  in  con 
tact  with  others  whom  he  knew  better.  One  of 
these  was  Allison,  and  to  him  he  finally  deter 
mined  to  apply.  Accordingly,  some  months  be 
fore  the  period  to  which  the  reader's  attention 
has  been  fixed,  he  called  upon  the  shrewd  young 
lawyer,  and  laid  the  matter  before  him,  in  the 
shape  of  copies  of  all  the  legal  documents  rela 
ting  thereto.  Allison  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  case 
would  be  a  hard  one  to  manage  ;  that,  in  fact, 
Hartzog,  the  individual  who  sought  his  services, 
had  not  a  shadow  of  equitable  right  to  the  property  ; 
but  the  very  difficulties  that  the  case  presented 
stimulated  him  to  undertake  it.  After  he  had 
thoroughly  understood  its  merits,  he  said. 

"  I  don't  think  your  chance  is  a  very  good  one, 
Mr.  Hartzog." 

"  That  is  the  reason  of  my  application  to  you," 
was  the  prompt  reply. 

This  flattered  Allison's  professional  pride,  and 
abated  the  small  portion  of  disinclination  to  under 
take  the  case  that  had  been  felt  at  the  moment  of 
its  first  presentation  to  his  mind. 

"  Whoever  gains  this  case,  will  have  to  do  more 
than  oress  the  claims  of  justice ;  for  thev  are,  evi- 
F 


62  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

dently,  in  favour  of  the  present  owner  of  the  prop 
erty,"  he  said  to  his  client.  "  To  prosecute  a  suit 
successfully,  when  your  cause  cannot  be  sustained 
by  arguments  founded  in  equity,  is  a  difficult  and 
delicate  matter.  The  court  is  never  disposed  to 
lend  much  favour  to  mere  points  of  law,  and  de 
lects  in  legal  instruments,  where  no  fraud  was  per 
petrated  in  the  original  transaction." 

"  I  am  well  aware,"  returned  Hartzog,  "  that  it 
will  require  no  ordinary  degree  of  tact,  talent,  and 
perseverance  to  gain  this  suit.  Therefore,  as  just 
said,  I  have  chosen  you  to  represent  my  claim. 
If  successful,  one  of  the  houses  shall  be  yours  ; 
or,  if  preferred,  the  value  of  it  cash  in  hand." 

"  I  agree  to  the  terms,"  Allison  replied  ;  "  and 
will,  besides,  pledge  myself  not  to  ask  one  dollar 
if  the  suit  is  lost." 

To  this  Hartzog  had  no  objection.  All  the  pa 
pers  were  placed  in  the  young  lawyer's  hands,  and 
he  set  himself  industriously  to  work  upon  the 
case.  In  due  time  a  suit  against  the  estate  of  the 
deceased  Manville  Harper  was  entered  upon  the 
docket,  to  be  tried  at  the  ensuing  term  of  the  court. 
Mrs.  Harper  employed  skilful  counsel  to  defend 
her  title  to  the  property  left  by  her  husband.  Her 
legal  representative  had  assured  her,  from  the  first, 
that  her  title  was  so  clearly  an  equitable  one,  that 
there  was  no  danger  of  its  being  set  aside  on  ac 
count  of  the  mere  omission  of  a  word  or  two  in  the 
release  ;  but,  as  the  trial  approached,  and  her  law 
yer  looked  more  closely  into  the  matter,  after 
having  had  several  interviews  with  the  opposing 
counsel,  his  views  changed,  and  he  saw,  with  real 
alarm,  that  in  the  subtlety  of  his  opponent  he  had 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  63 

much  to  fear.  Nay,  more,  that  the  defects  in  the 
title  were  of  such  a  nature  as  to  be  easily  made  to 
prove  fraud  on  the  part  of  Harper,  although  he  had 
not  the  remotest  idea  that  any  such  fraud  had  been 
committed.  These  fears  he  had  honestly  expressed 
to  his  client.  The  consequence  was,  great  con 
sternation  in  the  minds  of  Mrs.  Harper  and  her 
daughter,  whose  only  means  of  support  was  the 
income  derived  from  the  property  in  question. 

On  the  evening  succeeding  the  day  of  her  call 
upon  Mrs.  Harper,  Flora  met  Mr.  Allison  again. 
The  facts  mentioned  had  greatly  troubled  her 
mind,  and  caused  her  to  think  more  than  usual  of 
Allison,  to  whom  she  wished  to  mention  the  sub 
ject,  under  the  vague  hope  that  he  could  throw 
some  light  upon  the  dark  picture.  But.  although 
it  was  on  her  tongue  half  a  dozen  times  during  the 
evening  to  allude  to  it,  some  new  topic,  introduced 
just  at  the  moment,  most  inopportunely,  would  al 
ways  prevent  her  from  speaking  of  the  thing  near 
est  her  heart.  Much  disappointed,  Flora  saw  Al 
lison  depart,  without  having  made  to  him  the  de 
sired  communication. 

The  deep  interest  felt  by  Flora  in  her  friend 
absorbed  almost  every  other  thought.  She  went 
to  them  early  on  the  next  morning,  and  stayed 
throughout  the  day.  The  consternation  that  had 
seemed  almost  to  paralyze  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Har 
per  on  the  day  previous  had  subsided.  She  was 
now  calmer,  and  more  thoughtful.  To  the  ques 
tion  of  Flora,  as  to  whether  she  had  heard  any 
thing  encouraging  in  regard  to  the  suit,  she  re 
plied, 

"  No,  my  child.     The  case  stands,  doubtless,  as 


64  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  '. 

our  lawyer  has  represented  it  to  us.  But  whether 
our  little  all  be  retained  or  pass  away,  we  shall 
still  remain  in  His  hands  who  careth  for  the  spar 
rows.  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about  this  mat 
ter  since  you  were  here  yesterday.  Then  my 
mind  was  too  much  agitated  ;  I  could  not  think 
calmly*  My  conclusion  is,  as  it  should  have  been 
at  first,  that,  as  in  the  moral  government  of  Him 
who  ruleth  all  things  well,  no  mere  gratuitous  evil 
is  permitted,  this  evil  thing  which  has  come  to 
pass  is  for  good.  What  I  mean  by  evil  is  the 
effort  made  to  do  a  great  wrong.  The  suffering 
we  have  felt  in  anticipation  of  our  loss,  or  what 
we  may  really  suffer  should  the  loss  occur,  I  do 
not  call  by  the  name  of  evil — evil  is  sin,  and  ap 
pertains  only  to  him  who  committeth  sin.  Sor 
rows,  privations,  distress,  losses,  are  not  evils  : 
they  are  only  blessings  in  disguise  sent  for  our 
good.  We  are  not  perfect — we  are  not  wholly 
good ;  we  therefore  need  something  to  agitate  the 
stagnant  surface  of  our  minds.  This  trouble,  I  feel 
sure,  has  been  permitted  for  this  very  end.  It  is 
thus  that  I  am  endeavouring  to  look  at  the  whole 
subject ;  and  it  is  this  view  that  causes  me  to  feel 
calm,  though  serious.  If  we  lose  what  we  have 
of  worldly  goods,  it  will  be  a  painful  trial  ;  but 
should  the  loss  come,  I  will  strive  riot  to  murmur. 
I  will  see  in  it  the  hand  of  Him  who  doeth  all 
things  well." 

A  state  of  mind  so  elevated  did  not  excite 
Flora's  wonder.  Sentiments  like  those  uttered  by 
Mrs.  Harper  were  familiar  to  her  ears.  Her 
mother's  character  was  formed  upon  a  like  basis 
of  profound  trust  in  a  Divine  Providence  that  re 


A    STORY/    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  65 

gards  even  the  minutest  particulars  in  the  life  of 
every  individual. 

"  What  you  say,"  she  replied,  "  I  feel  to  be  true. 
But  it  must  be  hard  to  rest  in  such  a  faith,  when 
all  is  dark  around  and  above." 

"  Not  so  hard  as  it  may  seem  to  those  with 
whom  all  is  sunshine,"  Mrs.  Harper  said.  "Ah, 
my  dear  young  friend  !  when  the  shadow  falls 
upon  our  path,  there  is  a  sweet  compensation  in 
the  full  conviction  that  the  sun  is  still  shining 
brightly  in  the  heavens.  In  such  an  hour,  to  the 
heart  that  will  look  up,  there  comes  a  trust  and 
confidence  that  all  things  will  work  together  for 
good.  This  is  an  all-sustaining  assurance.  This 
I  now  feel,  and  I  can  say,  in  truth,  that  it  is  more  to 
me  than  all  my  fears." 

From  this  state  of  reliance  upon  Providence  the 
mind  of  Mrs.  Harper  relapsed  in  a  few  hours, 
when  she  became  anxious  and  troubled.  This 
continued  for  some  time,  until  she  again  struggled 
to  lift  her  eyes  upward,  and  see  the  hand  filled 
with  blessings,  that  seemed  only  to  hold  the  rod  of 
correction.  It  was,  at  best,  a  hard  trial ;  but  it 
proved  a  salutary  one,  as  are  all  the  trials  we  are 
permitted  to  endure. 

F2 


66  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS : 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   DISCOVERY. 

FLORA  would  have  stayed  all  night  with  Mrs 
Harper  and  Anne  but  for  the  fact  that  she  wished 
to  get  Mr.  Allison's  opinion  of  the  case,  which  she 
hoped  to  do  in  the  evening.  She  therefore  left 
her  friends  and  returned  to  Mrs.  Whitney,  with 
whom  she  stayed  ;  but,  what  was  very  unusual, 
Mr.  Allison  did  not  come.  Most  of  the  next  day, 
which  was  the  one  preceding  the  trial,  she  spent 
at  Mrs.  Harper's.  She  found  less  composure  in 
the  minds  of  her  friends  than  before.  Still,  they 
were  struggling  hard  to  be  calm,  and  willing  that 
all  should  be  taken  from  them,  if  such  were  to  be 
the  result.  Both  Mrs.  Harper  and  her  daughter 
intended  being  present  to  hear  the  evidence  brought 
forward  against  the  validity  of  their  title,  and  also 
to  observe  the  progress  of  the  trial. 

As  evening  approached,  Flora,  anxious  to  see 
Mr.  Allison,  returned  home,  promising  to  call  in 
again  early  in  the  morning  and  see  them  before 
they  went  to  the  courthouse.  Shortly  after  tea, 
Mr.  Allison  dropped  in  at  Mr.  Whitney's. 

"  We  didn't  see  you  last  evening,"  Emily  said. 

"  No,"  replied  Allison  ;  "  an  important  suit  that 
comes  on  to-morrow  has  occupied  much  of  my  at 
tention  for  some  days  past.  Matters  appertaining 
to  this  snit  kept  me  in  my  office  until  a  late  hour. 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  67 

I  have  only  now  dropped  in  for  a  few  minutes  just 
to  look  at  you." 

"  You  will  spend  the  evening,  of  course,"  Whit 
ney  said. 

"  No,  that,  is  impossible,  and  yet  discharge  my 
duty  to  my  client.  Business  first,  then  pleasure." 

"  What  suit  is  it  ?"  asked  Whitney. 

"  It  is  one  of  Hartzog's  tough  cases.  I  have 
managed  two  or  three  for  him  successfully  ;  but 
this  will  put  me,  as  the  jockeys  say,  on  my  met 
tle." 

"  Hartzog's.  The  heartless  old  skin-flint !  I 
wonder  you  would  touch  one  of  his  suits,  for  suc 
cess  must  inevitably  wrong  some  one." 

"  We  lawyers  have  nothing  to  do  with  that. 
To  us  a  client's  cause,  good  or  bad,  must  be 
gained,  if  possible.  This  is  but  simple  justice  to 
him.  Besides,  as  regards  Hartzog,  the  very  hard 
ness  of  all  his  cases  spurs  a  young  lawyer  to  do 
his  very  best.  If  he  can  gain  over  an  opponent 
who  has  justice  as  well  as  the  sympathies  of  the 
court  in  his  favour,  he  must  do  it  by  superior  skill 
and  talents.  Every  successful  termination  of  a 
bad  cause  in  a  lawyer's  hands  is  so  much  added 
to  his  reputation,  and  is  worth  a  dozen  good 
causes,  that  are  gained  by  their  own  intrinsic 
merit  more  than  by  the  skill  of  their  advocate." 

Such  sentiments  Flora  had  never  before  heard 
from  the  lips  of  Mr.  Allison.  They  shocked  her 
greatly.  Emily,  who  knew  well  how  her  friend 
would  regard  the  declaration  just  made,  trembled 
for  the  consequences.  To  her  mind  they  consti 
tuted  no  objections  to  him  ;  but  she  had  good 
cause  to  fear  that  Flora  would  so  regard  them. 


68  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS : 

For  this  reason,  as  Flora  said  nothing  by  way  of 
controverting  what  had  been  uttered,  Emily  re 
marked,  addressing  Mr.  Allison,  and  smiling  as 
she  spoke, 

"  Of  course,  this  is  only  a  pleasant  burlesque. 
You  would  not  undertake  a  bad  cause  if  you  knew 
it  to  be  so." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  returned  Allison,  promptly. 
"  This  very  cause,  that  I  hope  to  gain  to-morrow, 
is  an  exceedingly  bad  one.  Hartzog  has  no  just 
claim  to  the  property  in  suit.  It  was  bought  from 
his  father,  and  honestly  paid  for  ;  but  he  has  dis 
covered  a  flaw  in  the  title,  and  upon  that  hopes  to 
recover  what  he  has  no  right  to  whatever." 

"  And  you  wish  to  gain  it  for  him  ?"  Flora  said, 
in  a  firm  voice,  looking  into  Allison's  face  as  she 
spoke. 

"  I  certainly  do,  and  will  gain  it,  if  possible. 
That  is  my  duty  to  my  client." 

"  No  matter  who  is  wronged  ?" 

"  With  that  I  have  nothing  to  do.  The  court  is 
accountable  for  injustice,  not  the  lawyer." 

Flora  said  no  more,  and  Emily,  seeking  to 
change  the  conversation,  introduced  another  topic. 
Allison  remained  for  an  hour,  and  then  went  away. 
During  the  time  Flora  made  no  remark  except  in 
answer  to  such  as  were  addressed"  to  her,  but  she 
was  thoughtful.  After  Allison  had  retired,  she  ex 
cused  herself  and  went  up  to  her  room.  A  new 
light  had  broken  in  upon  her  mind.  She  had  heard 
enough  to  satisfy  her  that  the  suit  which  Allison 
was  about  to  prosecute  was  against  Mrs.  Harper. 
This  was  as  unexpected  as  it  was  startling. 
Could  it  be  possible,  she  asked  herself,  with  pain- 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  69 

ful  resolution,  that  one  who  had  so  deeply  interest 
ed  her — one  to  whom  her  hand,  if  asked,  would 
have  been  yielded  with  little  hesitation,  could  en 
ter  the  ranks  of  the  oppressor,  and  wilfully  seek  to 
wrest  from  the  widow  and  orphan  their  all  of 
worldly  possessions  ?  and  this,  too,  in  order  that 
his  own  reputation  as  an  acute  lawyer  might  stand 
out  in  bolder  relief?  She  shuddered  as  she  re- 
plied  to  her  own  question,  "  Yes,  alas  !  it  is  too 
possible." 

It  was  a  late  hour  when  she  retired  to  rest. 
The  time  was  spent  in  close  self-examination. 
She  had  striven  to  read  aright  her  own  heart, 
and  also  to  compare  the  real  admiration  she  felt 
for  Allison  with  all  she  had  previously  known  of 
his  character,  to  see  if  the  former  were  a  healthy 
consequence  of  the  latter.  The  result,  she  was 
forced  to  acknowledge,  proved  her  to  have  yielded 
more  to  the  fascinations  of  his  person  than  to  the 
more  genuine  attractions  of  sound  moral  qualities. 
This  discovery,  made  under  such  peculiar  circum 
stances,  was  not  merely  glanced  at  and  then  turned 
from,  but  it  was  kept  resolutely  before  her  mind's 
eye,  while  her  reason  rebuked  her  for  having  suf 
fered  herself  to  be  deceived  as  she  had  been  by 
a  mere  specious  exterior. 

In  the  morning,  immediately  after  breakfast,  she 
went  over  to  Mrs.  Harper's,  and,  unexpectedly  to 
both  Mrs.  Harper  and  her  daughter,  declared  her 
intention  of  accompanying  them  to  the  courtroom. 
In  order  to  avoid  being  unpleasantly  noticed  there, 
she  had  dressed  herself  as  plainly  as  possible,  and 
came  provided  with  a  close  veil.  A  male  friend 
of  Mrs.  Harper's  accompanied  them,  and  saw  that 


70  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS: 

they  were  provided  with  good  places.  At  ten 
o'clock,  precisely,  the  trial  began.  Unseen  by 
Allison,  who  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of  her 
presence,  and,  therefore,  remained  unaffected  by 
it  in  any  way,  Flora  could  now  observe  him  under 
new,  and,  for  a  correct  formation  of  an  opinion  in 
regard  to  him,  most  advantageous  circumstances. 
To  do  this,,  she  had  ventured  into  a  place  so  uncon 
genial  to  her  feelings,  and  so  inappropriate  to  her 
sex.  She  had  resolved  to  do  both  him  and  herself 
full  justice. 

The  manner  in  which  the  case  was  opened  by 
Allison,  before  any  testimony  was  brought  forward 
to  substantiate  the  claim  set  up,  shocked  Flora's 
mind  as  much  as  the  declarations  he  had  made  on 
the  previous  evening.  In  this  opening  there  was 
a  levity  in  his  manner  of  treating  the  defendants, 
and  a  covert  insinuation  throughout  of  fraud  on 
the  part  of  Mr.  Harper  in  his  purchase  of  the 
property,  that  made  her  cheeks  burn  with  indigna 
tion.  But  after  all  the  evidence  had  been  laid  be 
fore  the  court,  and  he  then  went  on  to  advocate 
the  claim  of  Hartzog,  there  was  an  ingenuousness, 
plausibility,  tact,  and  force  about  his  positions  and 
arguments,  that,  while  it  half  convinced  even  Flora 
herself,  made  her  cheeks,  that  a  short  time  before 
burned,  now  pale  with  anxiety.  She  had  never 
before  seen  him  out  of  the  social  circle — she  had 
never  before  seen  his  mind  under  the  excitement 
of  any  strong  impulse.  Now  she  listened  to  his 
powerful  eloquence  in  wonder  and  fear  :  wonder 
at  his  masterly  command  of  ideas,  arguments,  and 
language,  even  in  a  bad  cause  ;  and  fear,  lest  he 
should  use  his  talents  too  successfully.  Acutely 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  71 

did  she  follow  him  throughout  the  whole  course  of 
his  speech,  marking  here  his  sophistry,  there  his 
ungenerous  and  untrue  allusions  to  the  defence, 
and  here,  again,  his  too  palpable  efforts  to  mislead 
the  opinion  of  the  court.  When  he  gave  to  the 
counsel  for  Mrs.  Harper  the  floor,  her  heart  trem 
bled  for  the  result.  But  soon  the  power,  the  force, 
the  beauty,  and  eloquence  of  truth,  as  it  was  pre 
sented,  calmly,  clearly,  and  in  just  connexion, 
cheered  her  heart  with  the  prospect  of  justice. 
The  unfafrness  of  Allison's  argument  was  exhibit, 
ed  in  a  few  words,  and  the  subtlety  with  which  he 
had  attempted  to  mislead,  exposed.  Then  the  firm 
basis,  injustice,  upon  which  the  title  of  the  property 
rested,  was  shown  with  daylight  clearness. 

In  reply  to  this,  Allison,  evidently  discomfited, 
tried  to  rally  and  rearrange  his  forces,  but  the  at 
tempt  was  a  poor  one.  They  were  all  scattered 
again  by  a  few  words  from  the  counsel  on  the  side 
of  the  defence.  The  case  finally  closed,  and  the 
court  gave  notice  that  its  opinion  would  be  declared 
on  the  next  day  at  ten  o'clock.  There  were  doubts 
in  the  minds  of  but  few  as  to  the  nature  of  the  de 
cision  ;  those  doubts  were  with  the  parties  most 
interested. 

That  night  was  spent  by  Flora  at  Mrs.  Harper's. 
Allison  called  in,  as  usual,  to  see  her  at  Whitney's, 
and  was  much  disappointed  at  not  finding  her  there. 
He  stayed  until  near  ten  o'clock,  and  then  retired ; 
not  in  a  very  satisfied  state  of  mind,  for  Emily  had 
intimated  to  him  the  possibility  of  Flora's  finding 
an  objection  to  him  in  the  sentiments  he  had  im 
prudently  uttered  on  the  evening  before. 

Morning   came,   and  found   Mrs.  Harper,  her 


72  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

daughter,  and  Flora  nervously  anxious  about  the 
anticipated  decision.  The  former  struggled  hard 
to  fortify  her  mind  by  reasons  drawn  from  her 
knowledge  of  the  wonderful  care  over  all  His  crea 
tures  which  is  exercised  by  Him  who  made  and 
continually  sustains  all  parts  of  His  creation,  both 
moral  and  physical  :  but  this  she  found  an  almost 
impossible  task.  The  crisis  that  was  to  decide 
her  earthly  condition,  leaving  her  in  competence, 
or  casting  her  down  into  the  low  vale  of  poverty, 
was  too  near.  Tremblingly  anxious  as  they  all 
were,  the  time  passed  with  them  slowly  and 
silently.  Expressed  hopes  could  do  no  good. 
The  point  of  time  in  which  the  decision  was  to  be 
made  was  too  near  to  leave  room  for  a  fond  ima 
gination  to  create  airy  palaces.  Reality  was  at 
hand. 

Mr.  R ,  the  advocate  who  had  represented 

Mrs.  Harper  in  the  case,  had  promised  that  he 
would  see  her  immediately  on  the  announcement 
of  the  court's  decision.  For  his  appearance  they 
were  now  waiting.  Ten  o'clock  at  last  came. 
From  that  time  each  of  the  three  anxious  expect 
ants  could  distinctly  hear  the  sound  of  her  own 
labouring  heart.  The  first,  second,  and  third  quar 
ter  passed,  arid  yet  there  was  no  tidings.  A  few 
minutes  more  must  decide.  How  much  hung  upon 
those  minutes  ! 

Just  then  drew  near  the  sound  of  carriage- 
wheels.  Every  heart  ceased  to  beat.  It  passed ! 
Another  instant,  and  the  bell  was  rung  violently. 
The  servant  opened  the  street  door,  heavy  foot 
steps  were  heard  in  the  hall,  but  the  smiling  face 
of  the  kind  advocate  in  a  moment  after  assured 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  73 

every  one.  The  decision  of  the  court  was  all  right. 
Mrs.  Harper  could  not  restrain  her  tears  at  the 
announcement ;  they  flowed  freely,  and  mingled 
with  those  of  her  daughter  and  Flora. 

Thus  terminated  an  affair  that  took  at  once  the 
scales  from  Flora's  eyes,  and  enabled  her  to  see 
deeply  into  the  character  of  her  lover.  As  from  a 
frightful  precipice,  to  which,  lured  by  beautiful 
flowers  that  grew  upon  its  very  brink,  she  started 
back  in  alarm.  There  was  nothing  now  attractive 
for  her  in  the  once  fascinating  Allison.  The  dra 
pery  that  shrouded  a  loathsome  form  had  been 
drawn  aside  for  a  moment,  and  the  illusion  that 
had  kept  her  beside  that  form  was  gone  forever. 
One  glance  sufficed. 

G 


74  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS : 


CHAPTER  X. 

DECLINING  AN   OFFER  UPON  PRINCIPLE. 

As  Allison  had  made  no  direct  proposal  to  Flora, 
her  course  was  not  a  difficult  one.  That  such  a 
proposal  was  to  be  made  she  had  no  reason  to 
doubt,  for  she  had  been  so  informed  by  Emily. 
In  the  afternoon  she  returned  to  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Whitney,  and  very  frankly  stated  to  her  where  she 
had  been,  what  she  had  heard,  and,  still  farther, 
what  effect  had  been  produced  upon  her  mind. 

To  the  effect  Emily  mainly  looked.  That  dis 
turbed  her.  In  the  cause  there  was  nothing  to  her 
adequate  to  such  an  effect. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  she  said,  anxiously,  "  surely 
you  do  not  intend  making  a  matter  of  this  kind  a 
reason  for  declining  the  attentions  of  a  man  like  Mr. 
Allison  ?" 

"  I  certainly  do,  Emily,"  was  the  firm  reply. 

"  But  why  should  you  ?  His  profession,  and  the 
manner  of  his  prosecuting  it,  has  nothing  to  do 
with  him  as  a  lover,  or,  indeed,  as  a  husband.  It 
is  at  home,  not  in  business,  that  we  are  to  regard 
the  man  of  our  choice.  If  we  are  truly  loved  and 
cared  for,  we  need  not  trouble  ourselves  about  how 
business  is  conducted.  That  is  a  matter  out  of 
our  province — a  matter  of  which  we  cannot  judge 
correctly." 

At  this  moment  a  sealed  note,  enveloped  in  per- 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  75 

fumed  tinted  paper,  was  handed  to  Flora  by  the 
waiter,  who  had  just  received  it  at  the  door..  She 
broke  the  seal,  without  retiring.  It  was  from  Al 
lison,  and  contained  an  offer  of  his  hand  in  mar 
riage.  The  face  of  the  maiden  grew  instantly 
pale.  Twice  she  read  the  note,  and  then  handed 
it  to  her  friend.  A  silence  of  some  moments  en 
sued,  when  Emily  said, 

"  Flora,  you  will  not,  you  cannot  decline  this 
offer !" 

"  I  both  will  and  can,"  was  the  firm  reply,  al 
though  her  face  still  remained  very  pale.  "  I  will 
never  marry  a  man  whose  principles  I  despise  as 
heartily  as  I  despise  those  of  Mr.  Allison." 

"  You  are  beside  yourself,  Flora.  How  can  ever 
false  principles,  assuming  them  to  be  such,  acted 
upon  in  the  mere  business  relations  of  life,  affect 
the  strength  and  purity  of  a  man's  love  for  his 
wife  ?" 

"They  must  and  will  affect  it,"  Flora  said, 
earnestly. 

"  I  cannot  conceive  how." 

"  It  is  no  problem  to  my  mind,  Emily." 

"  It  is,  to  mine,  a  problem  hard  to  solve." 

"  You  will  admit,"  said  Flora,  "  that  one  man 
may  have  a  love  of  truth  and  justice  grounded  in 
the  internal  of  his  mind,  and  another  a  love  of 
truth  and  justice  that  is  merely  assumed  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  well.  The  first  of  these  characters, 
then,  will  show  his  love  of  truth  and  justice  in 
every  relation  of  life ;  the  latter,  merely  when  it 
subserves  his  own  ends.  Cannot  you  see  a  great 
difference  between  the  two  ?" 


76  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

"Yes,  I  think  I  can." 

"  Let  me  lay  down  another  axiom.  A  man  can 
only  truly  love  in  another  what  has  some  affinity 
for  like  things  in  himself.  I  then  ask  myself,  For 
what  am  I  loved?  Is  it  for  those  principles  of 
truth  and  justice  that  I  am  seeking  to  love  su 
premely,  or  is  it  for  something  external  to  these  ? 
For  my  person  or  accomplishments,  for  instance  ? 
If  I  discover  that  the  individual  who  thus  seeks  my 
favour  does  not  really  love  these  good  interior  prin 
ciples,  then  it  is  clear  that  he  cannot  love  me,  even 
if  he  sees  them  in  me,  from  any  genuine  affection 
for  them.  He  must  love  me  for  my  person  and 
accomplishments  only.  Now,  if  for  these  alone  I 
am  love^— these  external  things,  which  must,  from 
familiarity,  lose  daily  and  hourly  their  influence, 
by  what  power  am  I  to  hold  permanently  a  hus 
band's  affections  ?  If  he  have  no  real  love  for  the 
principles  from  which  I  act — can  see  no  beauty  in 
them,  but  rather  feels  them  as  opposed  to  all  his 
ends  of  life,  how  is  it  possible  for  us  to  be  more 
and  more  conjoined  interiorly  as  time  progresses, 
and  we  get  to  know  each  other  more  and  more  in 
teriorly  ?  Can  you  answer  that  question,  Emily  ?" 

"  You  are  merely  supposing  objections  of  a  na 
ture  too  abstract  to  bear  upon  real  life,"  was  the 
cold  reply  to  this. 

"  Emily  !"  ejaculated  her  young  friend,  in  pain 
ful  surprise. 

"  I  confess  I  cannot  see  anything  very  conclu 
sive  in  your  axioms  or  arguments.  They  fly  far 
above  my  head." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,"  Flora  said,  in  a  changed 
voice.  "  Certain  it  is,  however,  that  between  me 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  77 

and  the  writer  of  this  note"  (holding  up  the  propo 
sal  of  Allison)  "  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed — and 
fixed  forever.  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  the  in 
fatuation  in  regard  to  him  under  which  I  have  been 
labouring." 

It  was  in  vain  that  her  friend  urged  her  to  take 
time  for  reflection  before  deciding  to  reject  the 
offer  just  made  to  her  to  meet  Allison,  and  let  him 
explain  the  things  to  which  she  objected.  Flora 
was  immovable.  On  the  next  day  she  returned  to 
her  suiter  his  note,  with  an  answer,  in  which  she 
declined  meeting  his  proposal ;  and  in  the  evening 
was  at  Rose  Hill,  opening  up  to  her  mother  her 
whole  heart. 

As  soon  as  Allison  had  received  the  answer  to 
his  note,  he  sought  out  his  particular  friend  Whit 
ney,  and  asked  of  him  an  explanation  of  Flora's 
conduct. 

"  She's  a  fool  !  That's  the  best  explanation  I 
can  give,"  was  the  impatient  reply  of  Whitney. 

"But  I  want  a  more  satisfactory  reason  than 
that,"  Allison  said. 

"  You  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  retained  in 
a  case  against  a  particular  friend  of  hers." 

"  What  case  ?" 

"  That  of  Hartzog  against  the  estate  of  Harper." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Harper  her  friend  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  the  families  are  intimate." 

"  The  result  was,  however,  in  her  favour." 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  but  the  prying,  forward  gipsy, 

if  I  must  so  speak  of  her,  went  to  the  courtroom  in 

disguise,  for  the  very  purpose  of  seeing  how  you 

would  conduct  the  case.     You  happened  not  to  do 

G2 


78  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

the  thing  exactly  according  to  her  liking,  and  for 
this  reason  she  has  given  you  the  mitten." 

"  You  must  certainly  be  jesting,"  Allison  replied 
to  this,  the  colour  mounting  to  his  face. 

"  No,  I  am  not.  She  told  Emily  all  about  it ; 
and  how  you  tried  your  best,  as  a  lawyer,  to  wrong 
Mrs.  Harper  out  of  her  property,  or,  in  other  words, 
gain  your  client's  cause." 

"  As  I  was  in  duty  bound  to  do." 

"  Of  course  ;  but  the  girl  thinks  herself  a  won 
derfully  wise  one.  Emily  tells  me,  now,  that  she 
tried  her  best  to  persuade  her  not  to  marry  me,  al 
leging  it  as  her  opinion  that  I  would  neglect  and 
abuse  my  wife  before  ten  years  had  passed  over 
our  heads." 

"  Really,  I  am  confounded  !  Can  all  this  be 
true  ?" 

"  Yes,  as  true  as  that  you  are  alive." 

"  And  she  really  disguised  herself  and  carne  into 
the  courtroom  during  the  progress  of  the  trial  ?" 

"  She  did,  upon  her  own  confession." 

"  And  took  a  prejudice  against  me  because  I 
strove,  like  an  honest  man,  to  gain  my  client's 
cause  1" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  tried  to  break  off  the  match  between  you 
and  Emily  ?" 

"  She  did." 

Was  ever  such  a  piece  of  bold-faced  duplicity 
acted  out  in  real  life  before  ?  Am  I  not  fortunate 
in  having  escaped  before  a  discovery  of  my  mis 
take  would  have  been  in  vain  ?  Happy  riddance  ! 
say  I." 

"  Yes,  that  you  may  say  with  truth  and  feeling. 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE..  79 

For  my  part,  I  confess  myself  to  have  been 
strangely  deceived  in  Flora  Elton.  I  always 
thought  her  a  frank,  sensible  girl ;  but  this  affair 
has  presented  her  in  other  colours.  Poor  Emily 
is  greatly  troubled  by  her  conduct,  and  tries  to 
make  excuses  for  her  ;  but  I  won't  hear  a  word  in 
her  favour,  and  have  told  Emily  that  she  must 
cease  to  hold  any  farther  intercourse  with  her. 
I  think  her  a  very  dangerous  person.  She  knows 
too  much." 

"  Where  is  she  now  ?" 

"  She  left  this  morning  for  Rose  Hill." 

"  Where  I  hope  she  may  stay." 

"  Where  she  will  stay,  for  all  I  can  do,"  Whit 
ney  said,  angrily. 

"  There  are  good  fish  yet  in  the  sea,"  Allison 
remarked,  after  a  short  silence,  in  a  gay  tone, 
rising  and  walking  the  floor  with  a  brisk  air. 

"  Yes,  and  much  more  easily  caught  than  that 
floundering  torpedo  that  has  just  broken  the  meshes 
of  your  net." 

"  And,  when  caught,  worth  a  thousand  of  her." 

"  Oh  !  ay,  in  more  senses  than  one.  I  have 
several  times  wondered  that  the  modest  little  Rose 
Hill  should  have  outweighed  in  your  estimation 
the  more  substantial  claims  of  a  certain  splendid 
estate  on  Long  Island,  that  could  be  named,  backed 
by  half  a  million  in  city  expectancies." 

"  Haven't  you  guessed  the  reason  before  this  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Flora  is  a  girl  of  brilliant  mind.  She  would 
shine  with  the  best,  so  far  as  intelligence  is  con 
cerned." 

"  Well  t" 


80  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS : 

"  The  heir-presumptive  of  the  Long  Island  es 
tate  and  the  city  expectancies  is  a  simpering,  silly 
little  creature  ;  well  enough  to  dance  with,  but 
not  exactly  the  kind  of  companion  wanted  by  a 
man  with  my  views  in  life." 

"  Oh  yes  ;  you  are  looking  forward  to  becoming 
an  M.  C.,  or  something  higher." 

"  I  am,  and,  what  is  more,  will  attain  my  end. 
And  when  that  is  attained,  I  wish  to  have  a  wife 
of  whose  intellect  I  shall  not  be  ashamed  ;  one  of 
whom  I  shall  feel  really  proud.  It  was  this  rea 
son,  and  this  only,  that  induced  me  to  pass  by  many 
golden  attractions  and  fix  upon  Flora  Elton." 

"  But  the  golden  attractions  will  now  take  the  as 
cendant,  I  presume." 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  but  I  am  not  yet  able  to  speak 
upon  this  subject.  I  have  been  knocked  down  so 
suddenly,  that,  although  on  my  feet  again,  I  do  not 
yet  see  clearly.  After  a  while  I  shall  understand 
myself  better,  I  hope." 

The  young  lady  to  whom  allusion  was  made  so 
^ightly  was  named  Arabella  Lyon.  She  resided 
in  the  family  of  a  rich  uncle  and  aunt  in  the  city, 
who  had  no  children  of  their  own.  In  the  eyes  of 
every  one,  Arabella  was  the  heir  in  expectancy,  as 
Whitney  had  said,  of  the  large  fortune  of  her  un 
cle,  Mr.  Lorman.  This  tempting  expectancy  had 
exercised  a  strong  influence,  in  times  past,  upon 
Allison  ;  but  ambition  was  a  powerful  principle  in 
his  mind,  and  from  this,  looking  to  a  high  position 
in  society,  not  from  wealth,  but  talent,  he  felt 
bound  to  seek  one  for  a  wife  of  more  intellect  than 
was  displayed  by  the  sprightly  little  Arabella  Lyon. 

Disappointed  in  his  suit  with  Flora  Elton,  he 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  81 

soon  began  to  think,  with  something  of  his  former 
seriousness,  of  Miss  Lyon.  "  After  all,"  he  ar 
gued  with  himself,  "  it  might  be  bad  policy  to  get 
a  woman  of  too  much  sense  for  a  wife.  She  might 
prove  hard  to  manage  ;  and  to  be  checked  and 
called  to  account  by  a  wife  is  what  I  never  could 
stand." 

Finally,  Allison  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
half  a  million  of  dollars  would  be  much  more 
easily  managed  than  a  wife  who  had  too  much 
sense,  and  upon  this  conclusion  he  acted.  His 
attentions  to  Arabella  were  renewed,  but  did  not 
meet  with  much  favour  from  Mr.  Lorman,  who 
had  never  fancied  the  young  attorney.  An  offer 
for  her  hand  was  next  made.  This  the  uncle  de 
clined,  although  the  niece  was  very  willing.  A 
secret  marriage  was  the  result.  When  this  be 
came  known  to  Mr.  Lorman,  he  was  deeply  in 
censed  ;  but,  being  much  attached  to  his  niece,  she 
was,  after  a  time,  forgiven,  and  received  again  into 
the  old  man's  affections. 


82  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS': 


CHAPTER  XL 

ANOTHER     BRIDAL. 

IN  Flora's  sudden  resolution  and  precipitate 
action,  her  feelings  were  consulted  less  than  her 
judgment.  Had  she  suffered  the  former  to  speak, 
they  would  have  pleaded  hard  for  Allison.  This  she 
well  knew,  and,  therefore,  acting  from  a  clear  con 
viction  of  right,  she  gave  her  heart  no  time  thus  to 
plead  for  the  object  of  its  regard,  until  it  was  too 
late.  After  she  had,  with  tearful  eyes,  related  all 
to  her  mother,  dwelling  upon  the  deep  interest  she 
had  felt  for  him,  the  latter  said, 

"  Ah,  my  child,  you  have  escaped,  I  doubt  not, 
a  lifetime  of  wretchedness.  I  knew  Mr.  Allison's 
father  well.  His  wife  was  one  of  my  dearest 
friends ;  we  were  girls  together ;  she  married 
about  the  same  time  that  I  did  ;  ten  years  after 
she  died,  I  think,  of  a  broken  heart.  Her  husband 
was  riot  a  man  of  good  principles,  nor  had  he  for 
his  sweet  wife  any  well-grounded  love.  Young 
and  beautiful,  her  lovely  person  was  his  admira 
tion  ;  he  offered  himself,  and  was  accepted.  A 
year  or  two  sufficed  to  bring  on  satiety.  Ill  health 
rendered  her  less  attractive  than  at  first.  He  grew 
cold,  then  careless,  and  then  unkind.  The  tears 
he  shed  for  her  when  the  clods  of  the  valley  sound 
ed  upon  her  coffin-lid  were  for  the  eyes  of  others, 
not  for  his  loss.  '  Like  father  like  son'  is  not  an 
unmeaning  adage.  It  is  founded  in  the  nature  of 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  83 

things,  and,  having  been  confirmed  by  general  ob 
servation,  has  passed  into  a  proverb.  The  son  of 
a  man  who  has  called  bad  principles  good,  and  not 
only  called  them  so,  but  made  them  rules  of  con 
duct  in  life,  must  inherit  a  tendency  to  like  moral 
obliquities.  It  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  he 
will,  in  actual  life,  make  these  tendencies  to  evil 
his  own.  He  need  not,  if  he  will  oppose  them  ; 
but,  if  he  yield  at  all  to  their  impulses,  he  is  in 
great  danger  of  becoming  their  slave.  In  such 
danger  I  should  naturally  suppose  young  Allison 
to  be ;  and,  if  ignorant  of  all  that  you  have  dis 
covered,  and  he  were  now  to  ask  me  for  your 
hand,  I  would  not  yield  it  up  until  I  possessed 
the  most  indubitable  proofs  that  he  had  actually 
risen  above  his  hereditary  inclinations.  That  he 
has  not,  in  one  respect  at  least,  what  you  have 
yourself  heard  and  seen,  clearly  shows.  How  far 
he  has  been  influenced,  in  the  passion  declared,  by 
external  accomplishments  alone,  it  is  not  possible 
for  me  to  say.  I  must  believe,  however,  that  these 
have  mainly  influenced  him." 

"  To  that  conclusion  my  own  mind  has  already 
come,"  Flora  said.  "  He  could  not  have  loved 
goodness  in  me,  for  he  seems  not  to  regard  good 
ness  in  the  abstract  as  anything." 

"  And  no  man  who  does  not  seek  to  love  what 
is  good  and  what  is  true,  can  make  a  woman, 
really  happy.  This,  believe  me,  my  child,  is  an 
immutable  truth." 

Thus  Mrs.  Elton  sought  to  encourage  and 
strengthen  her  daughter's  mind,  that,  she  could 
plainly  see,  was  suffering  keenly.  The  image 
stamped  upon  her  heart  could  not  be  effaced  in  a 


84  LOVERS   AND    HUSBANDS  I 

moment.  It  still  rested  there,  and  it  required  a 
constant  effort  to  keep  from  regarding  it  with 
pleasurable  feelings.  More  difficult  than  she  had 
at  first  imagined  it  would  be  was  her  self-imposed 
task.  Many  a  sleepless  hour,  through  the  night- 
watches,  did  it  cause  her,  robbing  her  cheek  of  its 
bloom,  her  eye  of  its  brightness,  and  her  step  of 
its  buoyant  grace  ;  but  she  struggled  hard,  sus 
tained  by  an  ever  undimmed  consciousness  that 
she  had  acted  right.  In  this  way  months  elapsed, 
during  which  time  she  had  not  once  left  Rose  Hill, 
nor  once  heard  from  her  friend  Emily.  With  her, 
under  the  circumstances,  she  did  not  venture  to 
communicate.  She  rightly  imagined  the  cause  of 
her  silence  to  lie  in  her  husband's  anger  at  her  re 
fusal  of  his  friend's  offer,  upon  the  ground  of  al 
leged  unworthiness  from  base  principles. 

Doctor  Arlington  heard  that  Flora  had  come 
back,  a  day  or  two  after  her  return  from  New- 
York  ;  but,  remembering  the  reserve  and  coldness 
with  which  she  had  treated  him,  he  did  not  ven 
ture,  for  some  time,  to  call  upon  her.  When  he 
did  do  so,  he  noticed,  with  pain,  that  there  was  a 
change  in  her — a  change  that  indicated  mental 
suffering.  Her  manner  was  kind,  sincere,  and 
altogether  unaffected ;  but  there  was  something 
about  her  that  he  could  not  comprehend.  Of  one 
thing  he  was  satisfied,  that  she  did  not  feel  the 
same  interest  in  him  that  he  felt  in  her.  A  whole 
week  elapsed,  and  he  called  in  again  and  spent  an 
hour  with  Flora  and  her  mother.  The  former 
looked  thoughtful,  and  said  but  little.  Something 
evidently  preyed  upon  her  mind.  The  effect  of 
this  was  to  produce  in  Arlington  a  deeper  tender. 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  85 

ness  for  her,  that  had  in  it  little  of  a  regard  to  self. 
Gradually,  as  he  continued  his  visits,  evincing  all 
the  while  a  delicacy  of  feeling  that  Flora  had  never 
before  perceived,  she  began  to  find  pleasure  in  his 
society.  After  a  while  her  thoughts  turned  to 
wards  him  while  absent,  and  her  mind  pondered 
over  some  of  the  sentiments  he  had  uttered,  finding 
in  them  both  purity,  truth,  and  beauty.  From  this, 
by  an  easy  transition,  contrasts  began  to  arise  in 
her  thoughts  between  the  brilliant,  attractive  Alli 
son,  and  the  plain  country  doctor.  She  took  senti 
ments  that  both  had  uttered,  and  weighed  them 
calmly  ;  she  compared  known  acts  of  each.  The 
result  was  in  favour  of  the  less  imposing  of  the 
two  personages.  Doctor  Arlington  was  sound  to 
the  core,  if  the  external  he  presented  was  not  so 
pleasing  ;  and,  as  her  good  sense  quickly  told  her 
that  what  was  within  must  come  out,  she  readily 
saw  that,  in  the  end,  both  the  external  and  the  in 
ternal  of  Doctor  Arlington  would  be  far  more  at 
tractive,  and  gain  a  wider  commendation,  than  the 
other's  possibly  could.  So  far  as  the  power  of 
rendering  a  wife  happy  was  concerned,  she* felt 
that  there  was  no  comparison  between  them. 

A  willingness  to  admit  so  much  as  this,  even  in 
thought,  would  have  been  a  good  omen  for  the 
doctor,  had  he  only  been  able  to  read  the  maiden's 
thoughts  ;  but  if  he  could  not  do  this,  he  could 
very  easily  perceive  something  nearly  resembling 
a  likeness  of  them  in  her  manner  :  at  least,  a  like 
ness  of  so  much  of  them  as  favoured  himself.  The 
natural  result  was  an  increased  regard,  manifested 
with  a  delicacy  that  touched  more  deeply  the  heart 
of  Flora.  She  felt  the  truth,  that  one  was  seeking 
H 


86  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

to  win  her,  not  by  dazzling  her  mind,  and  thus 
taking  her  captive,  but  by  endeavouring  to  inspire 
her  with  the  same  tender  sentiments  that  pervaded 
his  own  bosom.  After  this,  there  were  few  obsta 
cles  to  be  overcome  by  Arlington,  but  he  was  in 
no  hurry  to  consummate  his  wishes.  Marriage,  in 
his  eyes,  was  too  pure  and  holy  a  state  to  be  rushed 
into  from  any  suddenly-inspired  impulses.  For 
himself,  he  was  fully  satisfied  in  regard  to  Flora, 
but  he  would  have  shuddered  at  the  thought  of 
marrying  her  while  she  was  not  as  fully  and  as 
rationally  satisfied  in  regard  to  him.  That  she 
might  be  able  to  know  him  well,  he  made  no  offer 
of  himself  for  nearly  a  year  after  her  return  from 
the  city,  although,  during  that  time,  he  visited  her 
constantly,  and  showed  her  the  most  delicate  at 
tentions.  When  he  did  ask  the  happiness  of  call 
ing  the  hand  he  tenderly  clasped  his  own,  that 
hand  was  yielded  with  a  thrill  of  interior  joy. 
The  love  that  united  them  was  based  upon  an  ac 
curate  knowledge  of  each  other's  moral  qualities, 
the  exponents  of  which  existed  in  a  truly  corre 
sponding  intelligence.  These  could  not  grow  old 
nor  fade,  but  ever  bloom  in  vernal  beauty.  On 
these  the  corroding  finger  of  time  could  make  no 
impression.  Sickness  might  blast,  "or  pain  de 
vour  ;"  the  eye  lose  its  brightness,  and  the  cheek 
its  soft  vermilion,  yet  love  like  this  would  burn  on 
with  a  brighter  blaze. 

Long  before  this  event,  she  had  heard  of  the 
marriage  of  Allison  to  Arabella  Lyon  without  an 
emotion  of  pain.  But  a  short  period  elapsed  after 
Doctor  Arlington's  declaration  of  love  before  a 
happy  wedding-party  assembled  at  Rose  Hill. 
We  need  not  say  who  was  married. 


A   STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  67 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TIME'S    DEVELOPMENTS. 

AFTER  the  lapse  of  ten  years,  we  will  again  in 
troduce  our  characters.  It  rarely  takes  even  so 
long  as  that  comparatively  brief  period  of  time  to 
prove  the  quality  of  any  marriage — to  take  off  all 
deceiving  externals,  and  show  the  partners  whether 
their  union  be  for  happiness  or  misery.  Alas ! 
that  it  should  so  often  bring  a  sad  consciousness 
that  there  is  between  the  man  and  wife  no  truly 
uniting  principle. 

Doctor  Arlington  we  find  in  the  city  of  New- 
York.  He  lives  in  a  handsomely-furnished  house, 
situated  in  Park  Place.  Some  years  after  his  mar 
riage  he  removed  with  his  wife  to  the  city,  where 
he  entered  upon  the  practice  of  his  profession. 
For  a  time  he  had  hard  struggles  ;  then  he  began 
to  feel  something  like  solid  ground  under  his  feet. 
A  few  important  cases  in  families  of  influence, 
skilfully  managed,  attracted  attention.  Practice 
began  to  increase.  Four  years  afterward  his 
standing  with  the  profession  was  so  high,  that  he 
was  elected  to  fill  a  vacancy  that  occurred  in  the 
medical  department  of  the  New- York  University. 
One  year  subsequent  to  this  time  we  again  bring 
him  before  the  reader. 

It  is  an  evening  late  in  the  fall  of  the  year.  A 
bright  fire  is  glowing  in  the  well-filled  grate,  that 


88  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

diffuses  through  a  beautiful  parlour  the  genial 
warmth  of  summer.  Before  this  a  sofa  has  been 
drawn  ;  on  the  sofa  we  find  Flora  and  her  estima 
ble  husband.  He  seems  more  changed  than  his 
wife.  His  face  does  not  look  so  uninteresting  as 
it  did ;  its  thoughtful  air  accords  more  with  the 
years  and  standing  of  the  medical  profession  of 
thirty-five,  than  it  did  with  the  country  doctor  of 
scarce  twenty-five.  And  more  than  this,  the  bring 
ing  out  into  active  usefulness  the  principles  he  was 
then  storing  up,  has  given  to  his  countenance  an 
elevation  that  has  in  it  the  beauty  of  wisdom. 
Still,  there  are  to  be  seen  the  defects  of  early  edu 
cation,  which  are  never  wholly  eradicated.  "  Just 
as  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree's  inclined,"  is  as  true 
of  external  accomplishments  as  of  the  moral  ten 
dencies  for  good  or  for  evil  that  are  stamped  upon 
the  mind  in  youth.  Both  may  be  changed  in  a  de 
gree,  but  the  bias  will  remain  forever.  The  move 
ments  of  the  doctor  had  never  been,  and  were  not 
now,  easy  and  graceful.  He  had  not  entirely  over 
come  his  bashful  modesty,  and  was  too  much  in 
clined  to  be  reserved  and  silent  in  company  ;  but 
none  of  these  defects  were  now  apparent  to  his 
wife.  The  high  sense  of  honour,  founded  in  truth 
and  justice,  that  governed  every  action — his  ten 
derness  towards  her,  that  was  ever  the  same,  or 
that  increased  rather  than  diminished — the  rich 
ness  of  his  intellectual  endowments,  and  the  clear 
ness  of  his  mind — these  were  all  seen  and  loved — 
these  concealed  from  her  merely  external  defects. 
She  had,  too,  a  wife's  pride  in  her  husband's  repu 
tation.  In  his  honour  she  was  honoured. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  all  the  afternoon  about 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  89 

my  old  friend  Emily  Whitney,"  Flora  remarked,  as 
she  sat  with  her  husband,  on  the  evening  just  men 
tioned.  "  It  is  now  more  than  ten  years  since  I 
parted  from  her.  During  this  time  we  have  not 
met,  nor  passed  even  a  letter.  I  wonder  if  she  is 
still  alive.  I  believe  she  went  south  with  her 
husband  after  the  death  of  his  father,  which  took 
place  before  we  left  Rose  Hill,  but  I  am  not  cer 
tain.  If  she  were  still  residing  in  the  city,  I  think 
I  should  have  heard  of  it  in  some  way.  Her  own 
father  became  a  bankrupt,  and  died  years  ago." 

"  I  have  not  met  with  Mr.  Whitney  since  our 
residence  here,  and  think  it  more  than  probable 
that  he  has  left  New-York,  as  you  suppose.  His 
father  left  him  only  a  small  portion  of  his  proper 
ty,  alleging  in  his  will,  it  is  said,  that  twenty 
thousand  dollars  were  enough  for  him  to  squan 
der,  if  he  continued  his  habits,  or  capital  enough 
for  a  young  man  to  build  a  fortune  upon,  if  he 
chose  to  give  proper  attention,  as  every  young 
man  should,  to  some  business,  whereby  the  whole 
community  as  well  as  himself  might  be  benefited. 
I  am  afraid  the  foolish  young  man  confirmed  his 
father's  fears  by  soon  squandering  his  little  for 
tune." 

"  Poor  Emily  !  If  such  be  the  case,  she  has 
sadly  realized,  I  fear,  the  truth  of  what  I  tried  in 
vain  to  impress  upon  her  mind.  She  did  not  seem 
to  think  it  of  any  consequence  what  principles  gov 
erned  her  husband,  so  that  he  loved  her.  She 
judged  of  a  man  by  his  exterior.  Into  his  motives 
and  ends  of  action  she  never  thought  of  inquiring." 

"  Such  being  the  case,  she  has,  you  may  well 
fear,  long  ere  this  discovered  her  mistake." 
H2 


90  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

Just  at  this  moment  a  messenger  came  in  haste, 
requiring  Doctor  Arlington's  immediate  attendance 
on  a  lady  represented  to  have  been  taken  suddenly 
ill.  His  carriage  was  ordered  and  the  summons 
at  once  obeyed.  The  house  at  which  he  had  been 
directed  to  call  was  a  large  and  elegant  residence 
in  Broadway,  at  some  distance  beyond  Niblo's. 
On  entering  this,  he  was  met  by  the  owner,  whose 
face  showed  much  concern,  and  asked  to  go  up  im 
mediately  to  his  wife's  chamber,  who  was  labour 
ing  under  a  sudden  attack  of  illness,  the  nature  of 
which  he  did  not  attempt  to  define. 

"  This  is  the  fourth  attack  that  she  has  had, 
doctor,"  he  remarked,  "  in  each  of  which  I  have 
called  in  a  different  physician,  hoping  to  find  some 
one  with  skill  enough  to  remove  the  predisposition 
as  well  as  the  disease.  Your  high  reputation  has 
led  me  to  place  her  in  your  hands  now.  Let  me 
beg  of  you  to  give  to  her  case  your  most  skilful 
attentions.  Her  disease  is  a  sudden  prostration, 
without  an  apparently  adequate  cause,  of  both 
physical  and  mental  powers,  from  which  her  re 
covery  has,  heretofore,  been  very  slow.  The 
thousand  questions  and  suggestions  of  visiters  and 
friends  as  to  the  real  cause  have  become  painfully 
annoying  to  both  of  us.  Occasionally  a  scanda 
lous  rumour  accounting  for  the  illness  will  faintly 
reach  our  ears,  and  make  my  poor  wife  unhappy 
for  days  at  a  time.  The  affection  is  nervous  al 
together,  and  ought,  I  think,  to  be  reached  by 
some  medicaments  or  course  of  treatment  known 
to  your  profession." 

After  saying  this,  the  husband  conducted  Doctor 
Arlington  up  to  the  chamber  of  his  patient.  He 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  91 

found  a  small,  delicately-formed  woman,  with  a 
face  as  white  as  marble,  lying  in  a  state  of  perfect 
unconsciousness  upon  a  bed.  A  single  female 
servant  was  in  the  room.  He  took  her  thin,  al 
most  transparent  hand,  in  his.  It  was  cold  and 
clammy.  There  was  no  perceptible  motion  of  the 
artery  in  her  wrist,  upon  which  he  laid  his  fingers, 
nor  could  he  discover  that  her  heart  beat  at  all,  by 
pressure  over  the  region  where  it  lay.  If  there 
was  any  respiration,  it  was  not  apparent  to  the  un 
assisted  senses.  A  small  mirror,  held  before  her 
face,  however,  soon  became  dimmed  with  con 
densing  moisture,  showing  that  she  still  breathed, 
and  was,  of  course,  alive.  As  soon  as  he  had 
ascertained  this  fact,  the  doctor  turned  to  her  hus 
band,  and  said, 

"  Will  you  now  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me,  as 
far  as  you  can  conjecture,  the  cause  of  the  present 
condition  of  your  wife  ?" 

"  As  I  have  before  said,  doctor,"  was  the  reply, 
"  I  am  utterly  ignorant  of  the  cause.  This  morn 
ing  she  was,  to  all  appearance,  as  well  and  happy 
as  ever  she  was  in  her  life.  When  I  left  her  after 
dinner,  she  seemed,  I  thought,  to  droop  a  little  ; 
but  I  did  not  think  anything  of  it  until  I  was  sud 
denly  recalled  from  my  office  an  hour  since,  where 
business  detained  me  later  than  usual,  by  the  pain 
ful  intelligence  that  she  had  been  again  attacked 
with  a  paralysis  of  both  mind  and  body." 

"  And  you  are  ignorant  of  the  cause  ?"  As  the 
doctor  asked  this  question,  he  looked  the  man 
steadily  in  the  face. 

"  As  ignorant  as  yourself,"  was  the  unhesitating 
reply. 


92  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS 

This  positive  declaration  did  not  satisfy  the  mind 
of  the  physician.  The  husband  was  too  ignorant, 
apparently,  of  the  cause  of  this  illness.  The  fact 
of  there  being  no  one  with  her  but  a  domestic, 
created  a  suspicion  in  his  mind  that  all  was  not 
right.  The  concern  evinced  seemed  more  to  re 
gard  appearance  than  to  arise  from  a  real  anxiety 
about  the  suffering  wife  ;  but  his  duty  was  to  ad 
minister  to  the  patient  in  accordance  with  the  best 
information  in  regard  to  her  condition  that  he  could 
devise,  and  he  proceeded  to  do  so.  Three  hours 
were  spent  in  efforts  to  restore  animation,  but  no 
success  followed.  Doctor  Arlington  then  went 
away,  stating,  as  he  did  so,  that  he  would  visit  her 
again  by  daylight  on  the  next  morning. 

At  daylight  he  was  there.  Little  or  no  change 
had  taken  place  since  the  night  before,  except  that 
her  features  looked  more  shrunken,  and  had  a 
ghastliness  about  them,  that  made  him  fearful 
about  the  result.  Three  children  were  in  the  par 
lour  when  he  entered,  sporting  in  gay  unconscious 
ness  of  their  mother's  real  condition.  The  sight 
touched  his  .heart.  Much  to  his  surprise,  there 
was  yet  no  one  with  the  sick  woman  but  the  do 
mestic  first  seen  in  attendance.  This  strengthened 
his  fears  that  all  was  not  as  it  should  be  between 
her  and  her  husband. 

In  the  course  of  three  hours  he  called  in  again, 
and  continued  to  do  so  through  the  day,  at  about 
like  intervals  of  time.  Not  until  near  night  did  he 
perceive  any  signs  of  returning  animation.  Then 
the  rising  and  falling  of  her  chest  in  respiration 
could  be  distinctly  seen,  and  the  motion  of  her 
heart  felt.  About  nine  o'clock  she  roused  up,  and 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  93 

lifting  her  head,  looked  anxiously  about  the  -room. 
But  two  countenances  bent  over  her,  that  of  her 
husband  and  that  of  the  physician.  She  fixed  her 
eyes  first  upon  one  and  then  upon  the  other  for  a 
moment  or  two ;  then,  sighing  deeply,  she  closed 
them,  and  lay  with  a  shade  of  most  touching  sad 
ness  resting  upon  her  pale,  thin  face. 

After  leaving  prescriptions,  and  giving  directions 
in  what  manner  to  have  them  given,  Doctor  Arling 
ton  retired,  promising  to  call  in  early  on  the  follow 
ing  morning.  It  was  after  ten  when  he  reached 
home.  Flora  was  alone  in  the  parlour,  reading. 
She  put  down  the  book,  and  looked  smilingly  into 
her  husband's  face  as  he  came  in. 

"  You  are  late  to-night,"  she  said,  as  he  sat 
down  by  her  side. 

"  Yes,  rather  later  than  usual ;  but  the  detention 
has  relieved  my  mind  a  good  deal,  for  it  has  ena 
bled  me  to  see  a-  change  for  the  better  in  a  pain 
fully  interesting  case.  For  the  last  two  or  three 
days  I  have  been  attending  a  lady  most  singularly 
affected,  and  under,  it  seems  to  me,  rather  singular 
circumstances.  I  was  called  in  by  her  husband, 
who  is  a  lawyer  standing  high  at  the  bar  here,  and 
found  her  in  a  kind  of  catalepsy,  for  the  occurrence 
of  which  he  could  not  give  me  any  reason.  This, 
he  said,  was  her  third  attack.  That  he  knows  the 
real  cause,  I  am  well  satisfied.  That  his  conduct 
towards  her,  in  some  respect  or  other,  is  in  fact 
the  true  cause,  I  have  little  doubt.  In  nothing  that 
I  observed,  in  his  actions  or  words,  could  I  see  any 
concern  for  his  wife's  condition,  above  the  fear  that 
it  would  excite  strange  rumours  in  regard  to  the 
family.  Ah,  Flora !  no  one  even  faintly  dreams 


94  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

of  the  heart-corroding  misery  that  is  shrouded  from 
every  eye  by  the  secresy  of  the  marriage-chamber 
The  physician,  in  his  daily  rounds,  catches,  at 
times,  a  glimpse  of  what  a  neglected,  suffering 
wife  is  struggling  to  conceal.  But  the  tithe  is 
never  known  even  by  him." 

"  The  lady  you  speak  of  is  better  ?"  Flora  said, 
in  a  concerned  manner. 

"  Yes  ;  after  lying  for  more  than  twenty-four 
hours  perfectly  insensible,  and  almost  lifeless,  she 
revived  and  became  apparently  conscious  ;  but  it 
did  not  seem  to  be  a  glad  consciousness.  Like 
one  awakened  from  a  pleasing  dream  to  some  sad 
reality,  she  closed  her  eyes  and  seemed  anxious  to 
sleep  again." 

«  Who  is  she  ?" 

"  The  wife  of  an  eminent  lawyer  here,  named 
Allison." 

Mrs.  Arlington  started  as  if  a  current  of  elec 
tricity  had  suddenly  passed  through  her  nerves, 
while  her  face  turned  pale. 

"  It  is  not  Mr.  Allison's  wife,  surely  ?"  she  said, 
laying  her  hand  upon  that  of  her  husband. 

"  Yes,  Flora,  it  is  ;  but  did  you  know  her  ?" 

"  Know  Arabella  Lyon  ?  Oh,  yes.  Gay  little 
Arabella  was  once  a  favourite  friend.  A  heart  full 
of  innocence  and  trusting  confidence  was  hers. 
I  wonder  not  that  it  has  been  broken." 

"  Did  you  know  her  husband  likewise  ?" 

At  this  question  Flora  closed  the  hand  she  had 
laid  upon  her  husband's  tightly,  and  looked  into 
his  face  with  moistened,  but  tender  and  confiding 
eyes. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  knew  him  also.     He  was  a  man 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  95 

of  winning  exterior,  and  once  interested  me  deeply 
but  I  discovered,  ere  it  was  too  late,  that  he  was 
void  of  true  principles,  and  when  he  offe-red  him 
self,  declined  the  proposal  without  a  moment's  hesi 
tation.  He  then  addressed  and  married  Arabella 
Lyon,  against  the  wish  of  her  uncle,  who  had 
raised  her  from  a  child.  A  kind  Providence  then 
sent  you  to  me,  with  words  of  affection,  my  kind, 
good  husband !  For  that  boon  how  can  I  ever  be 
sufficiently  grateful  ?" 

The  dim  eyes  of  Mrs.  Arlington  overflowed,  and 
laying  her  head  upon  the  breast  of  her  husband, 
she  wept  tears  of  thankful  gladness. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SAD     CONSEQUENCES     OF     A     MARRIAGE      ENTERED 
INTO    FROM    WRONG    ENDS. 

ARABELLA  LYON,  from  a  playful,  sprightly  girl, 
became  a  fond  and  devoted  wife.  Won  by  the 
personal  charms  of  her  husband,  her  heart  invest 
ed  the  object  of  its  tender  regard  with  virtues  to 
which  he  was  an  utter  stranger.  Years  passed 
before  the  veil  fell  from  her  eyes.  When  it  did 
fall,  and  she  awoke  to  the  sad  reality,  her  heart 
received  a  wound  that  nothing  on  earth  could  heal. 
Of  the  principles  that  governed  her  husband's  con 
duct  in  the  general  affairs  of  life,  she  knew  nothing 
— she  perceived  and  felt  only  what  regarded  her 
self.  In  fact,  her  mind  was  not  a  very  discrimi- 


96  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

nating  one,  and  in  all  matters  that  did  not  affect 
herself,  his  representations  were  taken  without  a 
doubt  of  their  truth  ;  but  her  affections  were  strong. 
To  love  her  husband  was  to  make  him  an  idol ; 
and,  though  he  might  be  hideous  to  all  the  world 
from  moral  deformity,  if  he  smiled  upon  her  she 
asked  no  more. 

Four  years  passed  without  a  cloud  dimming  her 
bright  horizon.  At  the  end  of  that  period,  both  her 
uncle  and  aunt  died  suddenly.  Nearly  the  whole  of 
their  great  wealth  was  bequeathed  to  a  distant  rela 
tive.  A  few  thousands  of  dollars  alone  were  left  to 
the  niece.  Allison,  who,  with  expectations  raised 
to  a  high  pitch,  was  present  at  the  opening  of  the 
will,  left  the  room  the  moment  its  contents  were 
known.  He  was  terribly  disappointed.  Returning 
home,  he  entered  the  room  where  his  wife  sat,  and 
throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  said,  with  bitter  em 
phasis,  and  a  dark  scowl  upon  his  brow, 

"  Your  cursed  old  fool  of  an  uncle  has  cut  you 
off  with  the  paltry  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars  !" 

"  Oh,  Henry  !"  ejaculated  the  young  wife,  start 
ing  to  her  feet  in  alarm — not  at  the  announced  loss 
>f  anticipated  wealth,  but  at  the  strange  words  and 
still  stranger  manner  of  her  husband,  "  do  not 
speak  so." 

"  The  old  wretch  !"  was  all  the  response  of  Al 
lison,  as  he  ground  his  teeth  in  anger. 

Arabella  had  never  seen  anything  like  this  be 
fore  in  her  husband.  She  had  often  noticed  that 
he  was  easily  excited,  but  towards  her,  and  in  her 
presence,  his  mariner  had  been  mainly  gentle  since 
their  marriage,  though  not  as  affectionate  as  she 
could  have  desired.  To  her  uncle  and  aunt  he 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  97 

had  ever  been  kind  and  attentive  ;  and  yet  all  had 
been  assumed.  He  had  married  Arabella,  not  be 
cause  he  loved  her  above  all  other  women — not 
because  he  thought  her  the  most  congenial  com 
panion  he  could  find,  but  for  money.  As  to  her 
intellect,  that  he  despised.  The  wealth  for  which 
he  had  married  was  in  the  hands  of  the  uncle. 
To  make  sure  of  this,  he  strove  to  appear  one  of 
the  best  and  kindest  of  husbands.  He  deceived 
only  Arabella.  Her  shrewd  relative  saw  much 
more  deeply  into  his  character ;  and  justly  in 
censed  that  his  wealth  should  have  been  the  prize 
aimed  at  in  running  away  with  his  niece,  he  re 
solved  to  disappoint  the  sordid  money-hunter  ;  and 
he  did  so  effectually. 

"  Henry,"  said  his  wife,  going  up  to  him  and 
laying  her  hand  gently  upon  his  arm,  after  the  last- 
mentioned  bitter  ejaculation  had  been  uttered,  "  let 
us  be  thankful  that  we  are  yet  left  to  each  other. 
My  uncle  had  the  power  to  give  his  money  to 
whom  he  chose,  but  he  cannot  rob  us  of  mutual 
love.  Think  of  that,  Henry." 

Her  husband  did  not  reply  to  this.  He  only 
looked  at  her  coldly  and  sternly.  The  expression 
of  his  countenance  made  her  shudder.  Covering 
her  face  with  her  hands,  she  shrunk  away  from 
him,  and,  dropping  into  a  chair,  began  to  weep. 
At  this  Allison  arose,  and  muttering  something, 
the  import  of  which  she  but  half  comprehended, 
left  the  apartment.  The  street  door  closed  a  min 
ute  after  with  a  heavy  jar.  The  sound  of  this 
made  Arabella  start  to  her  feet.  For  some  mo 
ments  she  stood  with  a  bewildered  air,  and  then 
sunk  into  the  chair  from  which  she  had  risen, 
I 


98  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

burying  her  face  in  her  hands  and  again  crying 
bitterly. 

This  occurred  early  in  the  day.  The  dinner 
hour  came,  but  Allison  did  not  return.  He  cared 
as  little  to  eat  as  he  did  to  see  his  wife.  Arabella 
waited  anxiously,  and  wept  at  the  long  delay. 
The  food  was  removed  untasted.  Slowly  and 
wearily  passed  the  hours  until  nightfall.  At  last 
the  sound  of  his  footsteps  was  heard  below,  and 
his  wife  sprang  down  the  stairs  to  meet  him ;  but 
he  received  her  coldly,  and  declined  answering 
her  questions  as  to  why  he  had  not  come  home  at 
the  usual  hour.  Checked  and  chilled  to  the  heart, 
Arabella  shrunk  away  from  him,  while  he  showed 
no  inclination  to  confer  with  her  upon  any  subject. 
When  tea  was  announced,  he  took  his  place  at  the 
table  in  silence.  She  did  not,  venture  to  speak  to 
him  again,  and  he  said  nothing  to  her.  He  sat 
but  a  little  while,  and  then  retired  into  the  parlour. 
Thither  his  wife  did  not  follow,  but  went  up  into 
her  chamber  to  attend  to  her  child,  a  boy  now 
nearly  three  years  old.  The  prattle  of  the  bright 
little  fellow  did  not  charm  her  ear  as  it  had  ever 
done  before.  Her  thoughts  were  away  from  him. 
Not  until  his  tiny  hands  were  pressed  to  her  face, 
and  his  voice,  changed  to  a  saddened  tone,  uttered 
the  words, 

"  Don't  cry,  mamma — Henry  be  a  good  boy," 
was  she  conscious  that  she  was  really  weeping. 
Drying  her  tears  hastily,  she  lifted  him  in  her 
arms  and  clasped  him  tightly  to  her  bosom,  mur 
muring  as  she  did  so, 

"  Dear,  dear  child  !"  then  laying  him  in  his  lit 
tle  bed,  she  kissed  him  tenderly,  and,  after  return- 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  99 

ing  his  "  good-night,"  went  down  stairs.  As  she 
entered  the  parlour,  she  heard  the  street  door  close. 
Her  husband  had  left  the  house.  A  heart-sicken 
ing  thought  came  into  her  mind — the  thought  that 
he  had  never  loved  her — that  he  had  sought  her 
hand  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  with  it  the  riches 
that  common  rumour  said  she  was  to  inherit  from 
her  uncle  ;  but  this  was  instantly  repelled  as  an 
idea  not  to  be  entertained  for  a  moment. 

In  the  mean  time,  Allison,  whose  disappointment 
had  been  so  sudden  and  so  severe  as  to  deprive 
him  of  even  decent  self-control,  went  from  his 
house  to  his  office,  where  he  threw  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  sat  for  nearly  half  an  hour  almost  as  im 
movable  as  a  statue.  There  was  but  one  feeling 
and  one  thought  active  in  his  mind.  Rousing  him 
self  up  at  last,  and  rising  to  his  feet  as  he  uttered 
a  bitter  imprecation  against  the  individual  who  had 
chosen  to  cut  him  off  with  a  mere  nominal  bequest, 
he  sought  the  mechanical  relief  of  walking  hur 
riedly  the  floor  of  his  office.  As  he  did  so,  a 
thought  of  the  cruelty  of  his  conduct  towards  Ara 
bella  crossed  his  mind,  and  also  the  necessity  of 
keeping  up  appearances  in  regard  to  her.  This 
thought  was  but  the  germ  of  others  of  a  like  char 
acter.  Shame,  if  not  a  better  feeling,  caused  his 
cheek  to  burn,  as  he  remembered  how  rudely  he 
had  treated  her,  and  how  apparent  it  must  be  to 
her  mind  that  he  cared  little  for  her  in  comparison 
with  the  wealth  of  her  deceased  uncle.  Influenced 
by  these  thoughts,  he  had  already  made  a  move 
ment  to  leave  his  office  and  return  home,  when  the 
door  opened  and  his  wife  glided  in. 

"  Arabella  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  surprise. 


100  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

"  Dear  husband !"  she  said,  endeavouring  to 
smile  as  she  advanced  towards  him,  "  I  tried  to 
compel  myself  to  wait  until  you  returned  home,  but 
I  could  not.  My  heart  fluttered  so,  try  all  that  I 
would  to  keep  it  still,  that  I  was  frightened.  Do 
not  be  angry  with  me  for  coming  here  in  the  hope 
of  finding  you.  I  could  not  help  it.  And  now  I 
am  here,  tell  me  why  you  turned  from  me  so  coldly. 
You  will  kill  me  if  you  do  not." 

There  was  a  wildness  about  the  eyes  of  Ara 
bella  that  her  forced  smile  could  not  hide,  while 
she  panted  rather  than  breathed.  This  her  hus 
band  saw,  and  it  alarmed  him. 

"  Don't  be  a  foolish  child,"  he  returned,  in  a  half- 
playful,  half-reproving  tone  ;  "  I  was  too  much  mor 
tified  and  disappointed  at  the  will  to  be  myself; 
and  still,  I  cannot  get  over  it." 

"  Surely  we  needn't  mind  that,  dear  husband  !" 
returned  Arabella,  earnestly.  "  Mere  wealth  can 
not  give  happiness.  If  you  will  never  think  of  it 
again,  I  will  not.  Your  lot,  be  it  what  it  may,  I 
am  willing  to  share." 

The  fond  devotedness  of  his  wife,  expressed 
with  an  eloquence  of  feeling  that  gave  power  to 
every  word,  touched  Allison,  and  led  him  to  change 
his  whole  manner  towards  her.  He  answered  kind 
ly,  and  at  once  returned  with  her  to  their  house, 
where  he  spent  the  evening  in  a  forced  effort  to 
appear  as  he  had  before  appeared  ;  but  the  strong 
incentive  that  had  for  years  caused  him  to  act  in 
an  assumed  character  so  perfectly  as  to  deceive 
even  the  eyes  of  his  wife,  no  longer  existed.  It 
was  hard  work,  therefore,  to  be  as  he  had  been, 
especially  as  the  shock  that  undeceived  him  in  the 


A  STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  101 

matter  of  his  great  expectations  had  been  of  such 
recent  occurrence.  Arabella  felt  that  her  husband 
was  indeed  changed.  There  was  no  affection  in 
his  words — no  heart  in  his  smile.  All  appeared 
to  her  as  it  really  was^  iead,-cQld  acting.  It  was 
not  long  before  conversation'1  .'ceased,  altogether, 
and  both  husband  and,,  wife,  became,  buried  in 
thoughts  that  neither  >vould  like  to  IIAVO  utte^d. 

From  that  time  there  was  a  gradual  change  in 
Allison's  manner  towards  his  wife.  He  was  not 
openly  unkind,  but  silent  at  first,  then  cold,  and, 
finally,  indifferent.  Through  her,  he  had  long  done 
homage  at  the  shrine  of  Mammon,  but  his  golden 
hopes  had  proved  vain  ;  and  when  he  turned  from 
the  false  god  he  had  worshipped,  he  no  longer  re 
garded  the  priest  with  interest.  Fixing  his  eye 
once  more  with  a  steadier  gaze  upon  the  star  that 
had  charmed  his  vision,  ere  the  hope  of  attaining 
great  wealth  had  caused  him  to  look  away  from 
it,  he  resolved  to  make  more  rapid  strides  than 
had  yet  been  made  Towards  reaching  that  emi 
nence  among  men  after  which  his  soul  longed. 
He  had  talents,  already  stood  high  as  a  skilful 
lawyer,  and  had  a  large  and  increasing  practice. 
A  proud  eminence  among  men  of  talents  awaited 
him. 

In  selecting  Flora  Elton,  years  before,  as  the 
one  most  suited  tc  become  his  partner  in  life,  he 
had  looked,  above  all  other  merits  that  she  possess 
ed,  to  the  fact  that  she  had  a  strong,  well-stored, 
finely-balanced  mind,  and  would  reflect  honour 
upon  her  husband  as  a  man  of  talents,  no  matter 
how  high  in  the  social  rank  he  might  be  able  to 
place  her.  But  she  whom  he  now  called  his 
12 


102  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

wife  could  throw  no  such  lustre  upon  her  hus 
band  ;  she  had  not  a  strong,  brilliant  mind  ;  she 
was  not  an  intellectual  woman.  This  fact  was 
continually  pressing  itself  upon  him,  the  more  ac 
tive  the  spirit  of  ambition  became  within  him  :  and 
the  more  he  allowed  U»ns?.lf  thus  to  think,  the 
more  h3-s,aw  th&  weakness  of  her  mind,  and  the 
more-  ,coiKen>pt  .he  fell  for  it:  \t  was  impossible 
for  such  thoughts  to  exist  without  their  exhibi 
tion  to  his  wife  in  some  form  or  other.  Poor  Ara 
bella  soon  learned  the  sad  truth,  that  she  had 
lost  all  power  over  her  husband.  His  indifference 
he  no  longer  attempted  to  conceal,  except  in  com 
pany,  and  then  a  consciousness  that  he  was  indif 
ferent  led  him  to  show  her  unnecessary  attentions, 
in  order  to  deceive  the  general  eye.  In  this  he 
was  ordinarily  successful — so  much  so,  that  Ara 
bella  was  often  congratulated  on  possessing  so  de 
voted  a  husband,  at  the  very  moment  that  her  heart 
was  aching  on  account  of  his  neglect. 


VTORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  103 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

7-tfST  AFFECTIONS. 

>  v  V»UT  a  year  after  tue  death  of  Arabella's  un- 
cl<*,  M>e  circ.'e  in  wnich  Allison  and  his  wife 
moved  t*a,s  rendered  more  attractive  than  usual  by 
the  presence  ot  a  young  lady  from  Boston  of  a  very 
high  orclei  01*  mind.  Her  name  was  Agnes  Benton. 
All  were  arike  fascinated — some  by  her  beauty, 
others  by  her  wit  and  vivacity,  and  more  by  her 
superior  intellectual  attainments.  Among  the  lat 
ter  was  Allison.  The  first  hour  passed  in  com 
pany  with  Agnes  Benton  caused  him  to  sigh  that 
he  was  not  free  to  ask  her,  or  one  like  her,  to 
share  his  lot  in  life — to  struggle  up,  with  him,  into 
eminence,  and,  from  a  high  position,  reflect  back 
upon  society  the  brightness  ol  his  fame.  Neve* 
before  had  his  own  wife  appeared  bo  insignificant 
in  his  eyes — never  before  had  he  fert  60  profound 
a  contempt  for  her  mental  endowments.  From 
that  time  he  went  oftener  than  before  mto  com 
pany.  The  charm  that  allured  him  was  th^  fas 
cinating  Miss  Benton.  Unhappily,  the  young  lady 
not  only  perceived  the  admiration  felt  for  her  6y 
the  talented  lawyer,  but  her  vanity  led  her  to  court 
his  attentions.  With  all  her  brilliant  qualities  of 
mind,  she  had  not  a  true  woman's  high  sense  of 
honour ;  in  this  she  was  far  below  Mrs.  Allison, 
whose  heart  was  in  its  right  place. 


104  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

Love  of  admiration,  not  the  love  of  high  intel 
lectual  communion,  as  she  flattered  herself  was  the 
case,  caused  Agnes  to  affect  a  great  regard  for  the 
wife  of  Allison,  and  to  visit  her  frequently,  always 
remaining  when  she  did  so  until  towards  teatime, 
and  then  yielding  to  the  polite  request  to  stay  and 
spend  the  evening,  which  Arabella  could  not  well 
help  making.  Allison  never  went  out  when  Ag 
nes  was  there  ;  even  engagements  were  broken 
for  the  pleasure  of  her  society.  Poor  Arabella 
could  not  help  noting  the  great  difference  in  her 
husband  when  he  came  in  and  found  only  herself 
at  home,  and  when,  as  it  now  frequently  happen 
ed,  Agnes  was  there.  To  the  latter,  his  manner 
exhibited  all  the  warmth  that  had  blessed  the  heart 
of  his  wife  in  former  days,  when  she  was  the  ob 
ject  upon  which  he  lavished  his  attentions.  Al 
though  little  inclined,  by  nature,  to  jealousy,  the 
devotion  of  her  husband  to  this  fascinating  woman, 
and  the  mutual  interest  which  they  seemed  to  take 
in  each  other,  alarmed  her  fears,  at  the  same  time 
that  it  awakened  her  indignation.  She  still  loved 
him,  and  had  a  wife's  pride  in  his  talents.  To  see 
him  made  the  dupe  of  a  designing  creature,  who 
flattered  his  vanity  that  she  might  be  courted  and 
flattered  in  return,  pained  and  mortified  her,  on  the 
one  hand,  while  this  stronger  evidence  than  she 
had  yet  seen  of  diminished  love,  wounded  her 
heart  in  its  tenderest  region. 

For  a  time,  merely  to  gratify  her  husband,  Ara 
bella  strove  to  seem  pleased  with  Miss  Benton. 
But  soon  perceiving  that  they  grew  more  and  more 
intimate,  and  less  inclined  to  conceal  that  intimacy, 
her  eyes  became  at  once  fully  opened.  Before, 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  105 

she  had  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  the  pleasure 
they  took  in  each  other's  company  arose  altogether 
from  a  congeniality  of  intellect,  that  is,  from  the 
mutual  pleasure  they  felt  in  conversing  on  subjects 
in  which  both  took  an  interest ;  but  the  scales  at 
length  fell  from  her  eyes,  and  she  saw  the  real 
truth  in  the  broad  light  of  day.  It  happened  in 
this  wise. 

Miss  Benton  called  in,  some  months  after  the 
date  of  her  first  acquaintance  with  Allison,  to 
spend  an  afternoon  with  his  wife.  Her  manner 
of  treating  Arabella  had,  unperceived  by  herself, 
changed.  Allison  had  not  hesitated  to  allude,  in 
some  of  his  conversations  with  her,  to  the  fact  of 
his  wife's  intellectual  inferiority,  even  basely  ven 
turing  to  express  regret  that  he  should  be  united 
for  life  to  one  so  altogether  uncongenial.  "  Had 
my  lot  been  cast  with  a  mind  as  brilliantly  endow 
ed  as  yours,"  he  went  so  far  as  to  say, "  how  happy, 
instead  of  miserable,  from  the  clog  that  hinders  my 
feet,  would  I  have  been  !" 

This  remark,  instead  of  causing  Agnes  Benton, 
as  it  would  have  caused  any  pure-minded  woman, 
to  turn  away  from  Allison  with  indignant  contempt, 
was  received  with  silent  pleasure.  It  was  a  tribute 
to  her  self-esteem — to  her  proud  consciousness  of 
intellectual  superiority  ;  and,  as  such,  it  had  a  lull 
ing  sound  for  her  ear.  After  that,  her  manner  to 
wards  his  wife  changed  ;  she  did  riot  treat  her 
with  the  attention  she  had  formerly  shown  ;  her 
visits  were  as  frequent,  but  there  was  less  effort  to 
conceal  the  real  estimation  in  which  she  held  her. 

On  the  occasion  just  alluded  to,  she  called  in 
late  in  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Allison  received  her 


106  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

coldly.  Contrary  to  the  determination  she  had 
formed,  she  requested  her  to  take  off  her  bonnet 
and  shawl ;  but  she  could  not  ask  her  to  remain  to 
tea.  This  was  not  necessary.  Miss  Benton  did 
not  need  such  an  invitation.  Compelling  herself 
to  put  on  the  external  of  politeness,  Mrs.  Allison 
forced  a  conversation  with  her  visiter,  in  which 
the  latter  exhibited  a  well-bred  indifference,  that  did 
not  escape  Arabella's  notice.  At  length  evening 
closed  in,  and  Mr.  Allison  returned  from  his  office. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Benton  ?"  he  said,  a 
bright  smile  spreading  over  his  face  as  he  per 
ceived  the  visiter ;  "  I  am  really  glad  to  see  you  ;" 
and  as  he  spoke  he  advanced  to  her,  and,  taking 
her  hand,  shook  it  warmly. 

The  manner  of  Miss  Benton  changed  in  an  in 
stant.  Her  countenance  lightened  up,  her  eye 
dilated,  her  whole  frame  quivered  with  a  new 
inspiration.  For  a  moment  Mrs.  Allison  looked 
at  them,  as  they  became  engaged  in  an  anima 
ted  conversation  upon  some  topic  that  had  no 
interest  for  her,  sighed,  and  then  left  the  room 
to  look  after  some  domestic  duties  that  her  efforts 
to  entertain  her  unwelcome  visiter  had  caused  her 
to  neglect.  As  she  did  so,  her  husband  paused, 
and  glanced  after  her.  As  soon  as  he  thought  her 
beyond  the  reach  of  his  voice,  he  turned  to  Agnes 
and  said,  in  a  tone  of  sadness, 

"  Ah,  Miss  Benton,  no  one  can  imagine  how 
deeply,  how  constantly  I  regret  having,  in  a  mo 
ment  of  weakness,  united  myself  to  a  woman  who 
is  excellent  enough  in  her  way,  but  who  cannot 
sympathize  with  me  in  that  which  is  nearest  my 
heart.  I  look  up,  up,  up,  to  a  high  and  glorious 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  107 

position.  I  seek  to  win  the  world's  high  meed  of 
fame  ;  but  she  looks  down  at  the  little  things  about 
her  feet.  She  would  have  made  a  man  of  less  am 
bition  than  myself  happy.  Me  she  cannot !" 

As  he  said  this,  Allison  sighed,  and  cast  his 
eyes  upon  the  floor.  Miss  Benton  sat  in  breath 
less  silence. 

"  How  madly,"  resumed  Allison,  "  do  we  often, 
in  earlier  years,  commit  follies  for  which  no  after 
repentance  can  atone !  Such  a  folly  I  committed 
when  I  married  Arabella." 

"  Certainly  your  wife  is  an  excellent  little  wom 
an,"  was  replied  to  this,  "  but  does  not,  I  should 
think,  possess  a  mind  congenial  with  yours." 

"  Congenial  with  mine  !  No  ;  there  is  nothing 
in  common  between  us.  Ah,  Miss  Benton,  I  some 
times  think,  if  it  had  only  been  my  good  fortune  to 
have  met  with  you  before — " 

A  groan,  instantly  succeeded  by  the  sound  of  a 
heavy  body  falling  close  by  the  door  of  the  room 
within  which  they  sat,  startled  the  infatuated  pair. 
Allison  rushed  into  the  passage.  The  body  of  his 
wife  lay  insensible  at  his  feet.  Lifting  her  in  his 
arms,  he  carried  her  up  stairs,  followed  by  Miss 
Benton.  It  seemed  an  ordinary  fainting  fit,  and 
efforts  were  made  to  restore  her  by  the  ordinary 
means  resorted  to  in  such  cases  ;  but  hours  passed 
without  the  least  sign  of  returning  animation. 
Then,  in  alarm,  a  physician  was  sent  for.  No 
satisfactory  account  was  given  to  him  of  the  cause 
of  this  sudden  suspension  of  vitality.  That  cause, 
truly  guessed  by  her  husband  and  Agnes  Benton, 
could  not  even  be  remotely  hinted  at  by  either  of 
them.  All  through  the  night  and  the  next  day 


108  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

Mrs.  Allison  remained  like  one  dead.  No  pulsation 
of  the  heart,  no  respiration  was  visible.  Her  face 
wore  the  hue  of  death.  No  one  out  of  the  house 
was  informed  of  her  condition.  Agnes,  alarmed 
at  what  had  taken  place,  more  on  account  of  the 
cause,  and  dreaded  consequences  to  herself,  than 
the  fact,  remained  with  Arabella  throughout  the 
whole  of  the  day  and  the  next  night.  On  the 
second  morning  some  signs  of  returning  animation 
were  visible.  These  gave  light  to  the  physician 
in  the  application  of  remedies,  so  that  he  was  able 
to  meet  the  effort  of  nature,  and  guide  it  in  its 
healthy  action.  He  was  standing  by  her  bedside, 
with  her  husband  and  Agnes,  when  consciousness 
came  back  to  Mrs.  Allison.  She  raised  herself  up 
slowly,  looking  first  steadily  into  the  physician's 
face,  then  glancing  towards  her  husband,  and 
finally  fixing  her  eyes  upon  Agnes,  who  half 
shrunk  from  their  penetrating  gaze,  like  a  guilty 
thing  as  she  was — guilty  of  having  trampled  upon 
a  heart  already  crushed  and  bleeding. 

"  A  beautiful  serpent  to  carry  so  deadly  a  sting," 
murmured  the  wife,  in  a  wandering  mariner,  point 
ing,  as  she  spoke,  to  Miss  Benton. 

The  latter  shrunk  away  instantly,  and  left  the 
room.  The  patient  seemed  relieved  at  this,  laid 
herself  back  upon  her  pillow,  and  breathed  more 
freely.  With  professional  tact,  the  doctor  seemed 
not  to  notice  this  remark ;  but  it  startled  Allison 
almost  as  much  as  it  had  Agnes  Benton.  When 
the  doctor  left  the  house,  it  was  found  that  Agnes 
had  gone  also.  Allison  was  relieved  at  this.  He 
had  gone  too  far  with  her ;  the  effect  upon  his 
wife — who  had,  he  rightly  conjectured,  overheard 


A    STORY   OF   MARRIED   LIFE.  109 

their  conversation — of  his  intimacy  with  another 
woman,  made  him  conscious  of  this. 

Months  passed  before  Mrs.  Allison  was  anything 
better  than  a  drooping  invalid.  Friends  wondered 
at  the  great  change  that  had  taken  place,  but  guess 
ed  not  at  the  real  cause.  A  sudden  and  unaccount 
able  asphyxia  was  given  as  the  reason  for  subse 
quent  ill-health.  This  was  enough  to  satisfy  or 
dinary  observers.  A  few,  more-  curious  or  more 
penetrating  than  the  rest,  surmised  causes  still 
deeper  than  the  one  alleged — the  cause,  in  fact,  of 
that  cause.  But  these  were  careful  how  they 
made  suggestions  in  regard  to  the  case.  As  for 
Agnes  Benton,  the  result  of  her  unprincipled  con 
duct  caused  her  immediate  return  to  Boston.  A 
few  months  afterward  she  again  visited  New- 
York,  but  Allison  and  she  mutually  avoided  each 
other. 

The  birth  of  another  child,  some  six  months  af 
ter  the  terrible  discovery  she  had  made  in  regard 
to  the  state  of  her  husband's  affections,  gave  a  new 
direction  to  the  thoughts  of  Mrs.  Allison.  She  had 
now  two  children,  one  a  helpless  babe,  that  required 
her  constant  care.  To  these  children  she  devoted 
herself  with  unwearied  assiduity,  rarely  going  into 
company,  unless  strongly  urged  to  do  so  by  her 
husband.  When  she  did  go  abroad,  her  changed 
appearance  made  her  the  subject  of  many  remarks. 
Some  perceived,  in  her  pale,  thin  face,  and  eyes 
that  seemed  to  be  looking  inward  instead  of  upon 
external  things,  only  the  indications  of  ill-health. 
But  others  knew  the  signs  of  mental  suffering  too 
well. 

Thus  time  passed  on,  the  neglected  wife  wasting 
K 


110  LOVERS    AND   HUSBANDS: 

slowly  away  from  disease  of  the  mind,  that  weak 
ened  rather  than  gave  life  to"  the  vital  organs. 

Slight  causes  often  lead  to  painful  consequences. 
When  Henry,  their  oldest  child,  had  gained  the  age 
of  five  years,  the  father  proposed  that  he  should  be 
sent  to  school.  To  this  Arabella  objected.  She 
thought  him  yet  too  young. 

"  But  /  do  not,"  was  the  rather  domineering  re 
ply  of  Allison. 

The  mannef  in  which  this  was  said  was  felt 
more  than  the  words.  From  the  first,  she  had 
never  opposed  her  husband  in  anything,  meekly 
submitting  to  his  will,  no  matter  how  arbitrarily 
expressed.  But  the  question  that  now  came  up 
concerned  her  child,  and  her  love  for  it  not  only 
gave  her  clear  perceptions,  but  also  the  resolution 
to  express  any  difference  of  opinion  she  might  hold 
in  a  matter  affecting  its  welfare. 

"  I  can  teach  him  at  home  all  that  it  is  yet  ne 
cessary  for  him  to  learn,"  she  said,  mildly,  yet 
firmly.  "  He  already  knows  his  letters,  and  is 
beginning  to  combine  them  into  words." 

"  But  I  wish  him  to  go  to  school ;  and  I  think  a 
father  ought  to  be  the  best  judge  in  matters  con 
cerning  his  son's  education.  Already  you  are  be 
ginning  to  spoil  the  boy  by  over-indulgence  ;  for 
this,  if  no  other  reason,  he  ought  to  be  in  a  good 
school,  under  a  judicious  teacher." 

"  But  consider,  dear,  how  very  young  he  is." 
This  was  said  by  Mrs.  Allison  in  a  trembling 
voice.  "  Only  five  years  old  ;  and  he  is  such  a 
timid,  gentle,  sweet  little  fellow.  I  don't  see  that 
he  is  spoiled  in  anything.  I  don't  know  that  I  in 
dulge  him  in  what  is  not  right.  He  minds  every- 


A   STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  Ill 

thing  I  say.  Does  lie  not  do  the  same  to  you  ? 
I  am  sure  he  does." 

"  It  is  in  that  very  timidity  and  backwardness 
that  you  are  spoiling  him.  I  wish  him  to  become 
a  man,  not  a  woman.  If  he  is  so  very  gentle,  it 
is  high  time  that  he  should  put  on  more  of  a  boy 
ish  character.  He  will  have  to  take  it  rough-and- 
tumble  with  the  world  by-and-by,  and  the  sooner 
we  begin  to  educate  him  for  what 4s  to  come,  the 
better.  So,  make  up  your  mind  <to  have  him  sent 
to  school  at  once." 

"  I  cannot  do  that,  Mr.  Allison,"  was  the  wife's 
firm  reply. 

"Humph!  cannot  you,  indeed !"  This  was  spoken 
sneeringly.  Its  effect  was  to  rouse  up  the  mind  of 
Arabella. 

"  No,  I  cannot,"  she  replied  ;  "  he  is  my  child 
as  well  as  yours.  My  interest  in  him  is  as  deep 
as  yours  ;  and  I  claim  a  mother's  right  to  have  a 
voice  in  all  that  concerns  him.  I  do  not  ask  to 
have  my  own  way,  and  I  cannot  consent  to  let  you 
decide  all  questions  that  regard  our  children  by 
mere  dictation.  I  will  yield  my  judgment  as  far 
as  I  can  to  yours,  and  I  ask,  as  an  act  of  justice, 
that  you  will  consider  my  reasons  as  entitled  to 
some  consideration." 

Never  before  had  Mrs.  Allison  spoken  to  her 
husband  with  so  much  spirit  and  firmness.  He 
was  surprised  for  a  moment,  and  then  retorted 
with  a  look  and  tone  of  contempt. 

"  Your  judgment !  your  reasons  !  I  would  not 
give  that  for  them  !"  snapping  his  fingers. 

A  quick  shiver  ran  through  the  delicate  frame 
of  his  wife.  It  was  the  first  time  his  indifference 


112  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS.' 

towards  her,  and  the  real  contempt  he  entertained, 
had  been  uttered  without  disguise.  The  shock 
was  too  great.  Her  face  grew  deadly  pale  in  a 
moment,  and,  sinking  down  upon  the  sofa  where 
she  had  been  half  reclining,  she  fell  over,  to  all 
appearance  perfectly  lifeless. 

For  twelve  hours  she  lay  in  this"  state  of  sus 
pended  animation,  and  then  vitality  again  came 
forth  from  the  interior  regions  where  it  had  retired, 
and  restored  the  circle  of  life. 

Allison  deemed  it  prudent  not  to  press  the  mat 
ter,  the  agitation  of  which  had  produced  such  un 
happy  consequences.  Little  Henry  was  not  sent 
to  school  until  he  had  entered  upon  his  sixth  year. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    NEGLECTED    WIFE. 

Two  years  afterward,  Arabella  suffered  from 
another  attack,  brought  on  by  the  conduct  of  her 
husband.  In  each  of  these  a  new  physician  had 
been  called  in.  The  reason  was,  that  the  cause,  as 
existing  in  himself,  might  not  be  traced  out,  even 
by  the  medical  attendant.  His  love  of  reputation 
was  strong,  and  this,  seeing  that  his  manner  to 
wards  his  wife  produced,  when  not  too  well  guard 
ed,  such  dreadful  results,  caused  him,  after  that 
time,  to  treat  her  with  more  apparent  consideration 
than  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing.  Even  this 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  113 

was  grateful  to  the  suffering  wife,  as  little  reason 
as  she  had  to  believe  in  its  sincerity. 

Time  passed  on,  and  the  lawyer  rose  into  emi 
nence  at  the  bar.  His  aid  was  sought  in  difficult 
cases,  where  large  fees  tempted  him  to  put  forth 
the  very  best  energies  of  his  mind.  Notwith 
standing  the  failure  to  grasp  the  golden  prize  at 
which  he  had  looked  so  long  that  he  felt  a  right  in 
it,  there  was  no  lack  of  means  to  enable  him  to 
live  in  a  style  suited  to  his  taste.  His  talents 
brought  him  wealth. 

As  there  was  little  at  home  to  hold  his  affections 
there,  he  spent  but  a  small  portion  of  his  time  in 
the  society  of  his  wife,  who  rarely  stepped  beyond 
her  threshold,  and  knew  but  little  of  what  was 
passing  in  the  gay  world  around  her.  She  had 
now  three  children.  They  occupied  her  whole 
attention.  Anxious  to  keep  them  within  the  pure 
atmosphere  of  home,  she  devoted  much  time  to 
their  instruction,  so  as  to  make  their  father  satis 
fied  in  respect  to  their  intellectual  progress.  The 
oldest  boy  went  to  school.  This  the  father  de 
sired,  and  she  did  not  object. 

It  was  a  thing  of  ordinary  occurrence  for  Mr. 
Allison  to  be  away  until  midnight.  Gentlemen's 
parties,  or  other  engagements  of  a  like  nature, 
were  usually  given  at  first  as  the  reason  ;  but  the 
statement  of  any  reason  at  all  soon  ceased.  The 
husband  went  and  came,  as  suited  his  own  pleas 
ure,  thinking  not,  or  caring  not  for  the  heart  his 
coldness  and  indifference  was  breaking. 

Thus  things  had  gone  on,  year  after  year,  until 
Mrs.  Allison  was  little  more  than  a  hermit.     None 
saw  her  beyond  the  precincts  of  her  own  home. 
K2 


114  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

Her  husband  thought  little  about  her,  and  cared  less, 
except  so  far  as  her  pale  face,  drooping  form,  and 
sad,  patient  look,  rebuked  him  for  neglect. 

One  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  a  note  was  hand 
ed  in  by  some  one,  unsealed,  and  addressed  to  her. 
She  opened  it,  and  read  the  contents.  Only  con 
sciousness  enough  remained  to  crush  it  into  her 
bosom  for  concealment,  when  she  fell  upon  the 
floor  in  the  swoon,  to  restore  her  from  which  Doc 
tor  Arlington,  as  has  been  seen,  was  summoned. 
The  contents  of  that  note  were  such  as  to  prevent 
their  declaration  here.  It  is  enough  to  say  that 
they  were  of  a  character  to  inflict  upon  the  heart 
of  a  virtuous  wife  a  wound  that  no  balm  can  heal. 

At  the  same  time  that  this  note  was  left  at  his 
dwelling,  another  was  thrown  into  the  office  of  Mr. 
Allison,  giving  him  notice  of  the  fact.  The  deed 
was  prompted  by  disappointment  and  revenge.  It 
was  the  work  of  one  who  had  long  since  laid  aside 
virtue  and  humanity.  No  sooner  had  Allison  re 
ceived  intelligence  of  what  had  been  done,  than, 
in  alarm  for  the  consequences,  he  hastened  home. 
When  he  found  his  wife  insensible,  he  understood 
too  well  the  cause.  If  he  needed  confirmation,  he 
had  it  in  the  contents  of  the  note  she  had  received, 
which  he  found  in  the  folds  of  the  dress  that  cover 
ed  her  bosom.  It  was  instantly  destroyed. 

The  reader  now  understands  the  case  much  bet 
ter  than  even  Doctor  Arlington,  who  visited  his  pa 
tient  early  on  the  morning  succeeding  her  restora 
tion  to  consciousness.  He  found  her  in  a  very 
low  state,  and  altogether  indisposed  to  answer  even 
the  questions  that  were  put  to  her  professionally 
Her  husband  was  not  present. 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  115 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Allison  to-day  ?"  asked  the  wife 
of  Doctor  Arlington,  when  her  husband  joined  her 
at  the  dinner-table. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head,  and  looked  grave. 

"  Not  worse,  I  hope  ?"  Flora  said,  in  a  concerned 
voice. 

"  No,  not  worse  than  she  was  yesterday,  but 
very  little  better  than  she  was  last  night.  The 
fact  is,  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  her  case. 
There  is  something  wrong.  If  there  ever  was 
a  heart-broken  woman,  she  is  one.  I  never  saw 
just  such  an  expression  upon  any  face,  nor  just 
such  a  look  out  of  any  eyes.  Her  husband  was 
not  with  her.  He  had  already  left  the  house, 
although  it  was  quite  early." 

"  Poor  Arabella !"  Flora  said,  the  tears  starting 
to  her  eyes.  "  Ten  years  ago  she  was  the  most 
light-hearted,  happy  girl  I  knew.  To  think  that 
so  hard  a  fate  awaited  her,  for  whom  life  seemed 
all  sunshine  and  gladness.  And  Emily — my  old 
friend  Emily,  where  can  she  be  ?  How  does  it 
fare  with  her  ?  Badly,  I  fear.  Mr.  Whitney  was 
not  a  man  of  sound  principles.  He  had  not  the 
qualities  of  mind  required  to  make  a  woman  truly 
happy.  It  pains  me  when  I  think  of  her.  Ah,  it 
makes  the  heart  sad  to  look  back  in  life,  and  recall 
the  bright  young  faces  of  many  maidens  who  grew 
up  with  us  side  by  side,  and  then  to  glance  around 
in  search  of  them  now.  Here  and  there  may  be 
found  a  countenance  over  which  has  been  thrown, 
it  is  true,  a  veil  of  thoughtfulness,  but  which  still 
wears,  at  times,  the  smile  that  played  upon  it  in 
younger  days."  But  where  are  the  many,  and  how 
do  they  fare  ?  Some  have  gone  down  into  the  grave 


116  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS: 

in  the  freshness  of  virgin  beauty  ;  others  have  wan 
dered  far  away  from  their  early  homes  and  early 
friends  by  the  side  of  a  brother  or  husband ;  and 
others  may  still  be  seen,  occasionally,  in  the  old 
places  that  knew  them  years  ago.  But  few  of 
these  seem  happy." 

"  They  may  be  happier,  Flora,  than  you  think," 
the  doctor  replied,  smiling.  "  The  cares  of  life 
make  us  thoughtful,  and,  to  the  eyes  of  others, 
sad." 

"  True ;  and  I  know  that  I  am  too  apt  to  think 
no  one  can  be  as  happy  as  myself." 

"  And  why  not,  Flora  ?" 

'*  Because  I  think  no  one  can  have  so  kind,  so 
good,  so  excellent  a  husband."  The  face  of  Mrs. 
Arlington  glowed  as  she  spoke. 

"  Too  partial,  my  dear  Flora,"  returned  Arling 
ton,  with  a  smile  of  affection.  "But,  besides  you, 
there  are  many — very  many  happy  wives.  I  see 
both  sides  of  the  picture  ;  and  one  is  as  bright  as 
the  other  is  dark.  Too  many  a  fond,  trusting  girl, 
*hrows  herself  away  upon  a  man  who  is  unworthy 
of  her,  and  pays  for  her  mistake  the  penalty  of  a 
whole  lifetime  of  misery.  But  others  act  more 
wisely ;  and  this  number  is  large.  The  pale 
cheek  and  sunken  eye  do  not  always  spring  from 
mental  causes." 

Doctor  Arlington  visited  Mrs.  Allison  again  on 
the  next  day,  but  there  was  little  apparent  im 
provement.  Life  played  but  feebly  in  her  pulses. 
It  was,  indeed,  a  question  in  his  mind,  whether 
she  were  not  actually  sinking  instead  of  growing 
better.  He  met  her  husband  this  time. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her,  doctor  ?"  he  asked, 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE  117 

with  some  concern  upon  his  face,  as  they  left  her 
chamber  together. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say,"  was  the  reply. 
"  She  may  be  better  than  she  was  yesterday,  but 
the  change,  if  any,  is  to  me  imperceptible." 

The  husband  looked  thoughtful,  but  said  no 
more.  He  attended  Doctor  Arlington  to  the  door, 
and  bowed  to  him  in  silence  as  he  left  the  house. 

There  was  little  or  no  change  perceptible  at  the 
doctor's  next  visit.  Mrs.  Allison  still  lay  in  a  state 
of  semi-consciousness. 

"  Bring  me,"  said  he  to  the  domestic  who  at 
tended  in  the  sick,  chamber,  "  the  little  girl  I  saw 
down  stairs  just  now.  What  is  her  name  ?" 

"  Margaret." 

"  Bring  her  up  stairs  to  me." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  attendant  brought  into  the 
room  a  lovely  child,  scarce  two  years  of  age, 
around  whose  blooming  cheeks  played  a  mass  of 
sunny  ringlets.  The  doctor  lifted  her  in  his  arms, 
and  taking  her  to  the  bedside,  held  her  so  that  she 
could  look  down  upon  her  mother's  face. 

"  Mamma !"  instantly  burst  from  the  lips  of  the 
child,  in  glad  accents,  as  she  bent  forward  eagerly 
towards  her  mother. 

The  eyes  of  the  half-unconscious  invalid  flew 
open  at  the  sound  of  her  darling's  voice.  A  fee 
ble  smile  lit  up  her  almost  inanimate  face.  As 
she  reached  her  arms  towards  the  child,  the  doc 
tor  gently  laid  it  within  them.  Hope  for  the 
mother,  if  not  for  the  wife,  revived  as  he  saw  the 
emotion  with  which  that  dear  one  was  held  to  her 
bosom,  and  marked  the  fervent  kisses  that  were 
imprinted  upon  its  lips.  After  giving  directions  to 


118  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS. 

take  the  child  away  at  the  end  of  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes,  and  restore  it  again  should  the  mother 
ask  for  it,  Doctor  Arlington  retired. 

Towards  evening  he  called  again.  There  was 
a  change  for  the  better.  The  pulse  of  the  invalid 
beat  less  feebly ;  the  hue  of  her  countenance  was 
not  so  death-like.  Little  Margaret  was  seated 
upon  the  bed,  amusing  herself  with  some  toys. 
The  mother's  eyes  were  upon  the  child. 

"Dear^little  one!"  said  Doctor  Arlington,  put 
ting  his  hand  upon  the  head  of  Margaret,  and  play 
ing  with  her  golden  hair,  that  had  been  sweetly 
curled  by  the  nurse,  who  perceived,  instinctively, 
the  worth  of  the  doctor's  prescription. 

Mrs.  Allison's  eyes  brightened.  The  doctor 
had  spoken  of  the  child  purposely,  to  see  how  far 
the  mother's  feelings  had  become  active.  The 
result  assured  him  that  there  was  now  hope  of  her 
recovery.  In  this  he  was  not  mistaken.  The 
mother's  love  for  her  offspring  won  her  back  to 
life.  For  her  children's  sakes,  she  once  more 
took  up  her  burdens,  that  were  grievous  to  be 
borne.  At  the  expiration  of  a  few  weeks,  she 
was  so  far  recovered  as  no  longer  to  need  a  medi 
cal  attendant.  Doctor  Arlington  parted  from  her, 
at  his  final  visit,  with  feelings  of  deep  commisera 
tion.  He  saw  that  her  existence  was  a  living 
death.  What  she  farther  suffered  he  knew  not. 
He  was  never  again  summoned  to  attend  her. 


A    STORY   OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  119 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

A  GAMBLING  HUSBAND. 

WE  will  now  transport  our  readers  to  a  Southern 
city — Charleston,  and  into  a  small  room  of  a  third- 
rate  hotel  there.  In  this  we  find  a  woman  and  two 
young  children,  alone,  at  midnight.  The  children 
are  asleep,  but  the  woman  is  sitting  up,  engaged  in 
sewing.  Her  countenance,  that  of  a  woman  in 
the  prime  of  life,  is  care-worn.  At  intervals  she 
pauses  in  her  work,  listens  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then,  with  a  half-suppressed  sigh,  resumes  it. 

This  was  continued  until  after  the  clock  had 
announced  the  hour  of  two.  Then  a  man  entered 
the  hotel,  and  ascending  quietly,  opened  the  door 
of  the  room  just  mentioned,  and  glided  in. 

"  Emily  !"  he  said,  a  little  sternly,  when  he  per 
ceived  that  the  woman  was  not  in  bed  and  asleep, 
"  I  shall  get  angry  with  you  if  this  is  continued. 
You  must  not  sit  up  so  late." 

"  It's  no  use  for  me  to  go  to  bed,  Charles,"  was 
the  low-spoken  reply  ;  "  I  cannot  sleep  while  you 
are  out." 

Nothing  more  was  said.  The  wife,  for  such 
was  her  relation  to  the  man,  laid  aside  her  work, 
and  both  retired  to  rest. 

At  an  early  hour  she  left  her  pillow,  and  dressed 
herself  and  children.  The  husband  still  slept  on, 
and  continued  to  do  so  until  eleven  o'clock.  Then 


120  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

he  arose,  and  went  away  without  speaking  a  word, 
except  to  the  children,  who  prattled  around  and 
seemed  to  annoy  more  than  please  him.  A  few 
minutes  after  his  departure  there  was  a  tap  at  the 
door  of  the  room  he  had  left.  His  wife  opened  it, 
and  found  the  barkeeper  with  a  bill  for  the  last 
two  months'  boarding. 

"  Mr.  Whitney  has  just  gone  out,"  she  said  ;  "  I 
will  hand  it  to  him  as  soon  as  he  returns." 

"  Do  so,  if  you  please,"  the  man  said,  in  a  re 
spectful  tone.  Then,  as  if  reluctantly,  he  added, 

"  And  sky  to  him  that  Mr.  T wishes  it  settled 

at  once." 

Emily — the  reader  has  of  course  recognised 
her — shut,  with  a  deeply-drawn  sigh,  the  door,  as 
the  barkeeper  turned  away.  Then  sitting  down, 
she  remained  thoughtful  for  some  time.  From  this 
state  a  thrice-urged  request  from  one  of  her  chil 
dren  aroused  her. 

In  the  mean  time,  Whitney,  after  leaving  the 
house,  went  to  a  refectory,  and  calling  for  a  glass 
of  liquor,  drank  it  off  slowly,  helping  himself  freely, 
as  he  did  so,  to  the  lunch  that  had  been  placed  on 
the  bar.  This  was  all  the  food  usually  taken  by 
him  before  dinner.  While  thus  engaged,  a  man 
placed  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  saying  in  a  fa 
miliar,  but  low  tone,  as  he  did  so, 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you  all  the  morning, 
Whitney.  There  is  good  game  abroad  to-day." 

The  two  then  retired  to  a  private  room  up  stairs, 
whither  the  new-comer  ordered  a  bottle  of  wine. 

"  What  is  the  nature  of  the  game  ?"  asked  Whit 
ney,  bending  over  towards  his  companion  with  ea 
ger  interest,  as  soon  as  they  were  seated.  "  I'm 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  121 

cursed  low.  This  very  day  I  owe  for  three  months' 
board,  and  if  I  don't  manage  a  part  of  it,  I'm  afraid 

old  T will  turn  my  wife  and  children  out  of 

doors  ere  a  week  passes  over  their  heads.  Poor 
Emily !  it  makes  me  sick  when  I  look  at  her ;  and 
she  is  so  mild  and  patient.  I  would  not  speak  a 
harsh  word  to  her  for  the  world ;  and  yet  I  am 
breaking  her  heart,  I  know.  She  sits  up  regularly 
until  I  get  home,  whether  I  am  out  until  twelve, 
one,  two,  or  three  o'clock.  If  I  were  to  stay  out 
all  night,  she  would  not  go  to  bed  at  all.  I  some 
times  wish  I  were  dead." 

"  Nonsense,  man  !  You  are  too  chicken-hearted 
by  half,"  returned  the  friend,  gayly.  "  I  never  saw 
the  woman  yet  who  could  make  me  put  on  the  lu 
gubrious  phiz  you  now  wear.  I  believe  I've  got  a 
wife,  and  half  a  dozen  responsibilities,  somewhere  ; 
but  I  never  trouble  myself  about  them." 

"Well,  what's  in  the  wind  to-day?"  Whitney 
said,  after  a  little  while,  throwing  off  by  a  power 
ful  effort,  aided  by  two  or  three  glasses  of  wine 
taken  in  quick  succession,  his  gloomy  feelings. 

"  Something  worth  while,  I  assure  you.  Nothing 
less  than  a  young  planter  from  the  up-country,  with 
the  cash  for  a  large  crop  in  his  pocket-book.  He's 
quite  green,  and  full  of  his  own  importance." 

"  Where  is  he  ?" 

«  At  the ." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  You  must  bring  him  in  to-night." 

"  If  I  can." 

"  You  must.  If  you  let  him  slip  through  your 
fingers,  you  and  I  are  done." 

"  I  haven't  a  dollar.     Last  night  I  won  fifty  from 


122  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

a  young  clerk,  but  he  proved  in  the  end  too  much 
for  me,  not  only  getting  back  all  he  had  lost,  but 
stripping  me  of  every  cent." 

"  That  was  a  poor  business.  You  will  never 
make  your  fortune  in  our  profession,  unless  as  a 
whipper-in.  You  are  capital  at  that,  however. 
Here  is  a  ten-dollar  bill.  Use  it  skilfully,  and 
we'll  divide  handsomely  to-morrow  morning." 

After  putting  the  bill  into  his  pocket-book,  Whit 
ney  drank  another  glass  of  wine,  and  then  left  the 

refectory  alone  and  proceeded  to  the  Hotel. 

He  had  first  taken  an  accurate  description  of  the 
young  man.  He  found  him  reading  a  newspaper 
in  one  of  the  parlours.  Seating  himself  near  by, 
with  a  paper  in  his  own  hand,  he  commenced 
reading  also.  Soon  a  paragraph  of  unusual  inter 
est  arrested  his  attention,  causing  him  to  say  aloud, 
as  if  involuntarily, 

"  That's  a  serious  affair,  really !" 

The  young  planter  raised  his  head  and  looked 
towards  the  stranger,  half  inquiringly. 

"  Did  you  see  that  ?"  asked  Whitney,  pointing 
with  his  finger  to  a  particular  part  of  the  paper  he 
held  in  his  hand. 

"  No  ;  what  is  it  ?" 

"  The  late  affair  in  New-Orleans." 

«  No." 

"  Some  black-leg  scoundrel,  it  appears,  came 
across  a  young  planter  from  the  Red  River  coun 
try,  whose  pockets  were  well  lined  with  cash. 
By  some  hocus-pocus  or  other,  he  enticed  him 
into  some  den,  and  there  cheated  him  out  of  every 
dollar  he  had.  In  a  fit  of  desperation,  the  young 
man  blew  out  his  brains.  It  is  said  that  he  left  a 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  123 

lovely  wife,  to  whom  he  had  but  just  been  mar- 
ried.  A  sad  affair,  truly  !" 

"  It  is  indeed,"  returned  the  young  countryman  ; 
"  but  I'm  sorry  for  one  thing." 

"  What  is  that  ?" 

"  That  the  fellow  had  not  blown  out  the  gam 
bler's  brains  instead  of  his  own.  There  would 
have  been  a  moral  power  in  that." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  Whitney,  with  prompt 
ness.  "  If  an  example  of  that  kind  were  made 
now  and  then,  it  would  have  a  good  effect." 

"  No  doubt  of  it ;  but  a  man  who  is  weak 
enough  to  let  one  of  these  fellows  approach,  and 
then  lure  him  off,  deserves  to  lose  his  money.  I 
should  like  to  see  the  man  who  could  make  such 
a  fool  of  me." 

"  So  should  I.  He  would  have  a  harder  row  to 
hoe  than  ever  he  attempted  in  his  life  before." 

"  I'm  of  the  same  opinion  in  regard  to  my  own 
case.  Several  planters  from  my  section  of  the  coun 
try  have  been  caught  and  fleeced  ;  but  they  must 
have  been  blind  or  drunk.  Any  black-leg  is  wel 
come  to  all  he  can  get  out  of  me." 

"  Ditto  say  I,"  returned  Whitney ;  "  but  isn't  it 
surprising  how  men  can  become  so  utterly  regard 
less  of  the  rights  of  their  fellows  as  to  go  regularly 
to  work  to  entrap  and  cheat  them  out  of  the  reward 
of  their  honest  toil  ?" 

"  It  certainly  is  ;  but  it  is  a  painful  evidence  of 
man's  deep  depravity." 

"  If  I  had  my  way,  I  would  make  the  penalty 
for  gambling  ten  times  as  severe  as  it  is." 

"  I  would  agree  with  you  there.  It  is  a  most 
detestable  vice." 


124  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

In  this  way,  Whitney  led  his  intended  victim  to 
form  an  idea  of  his  character  as  the  very  opposite 
to  what  it  really  was.  A  stranger  in  Charleston, 
and  feeling  the  want  of  some  one  to  talk  to,  the 
planter  met  his  advances  more  than  half  way. 
From  gamblers  the  conversation  changed  to  other 
topics.  Whitney  was  well  informed  in  political 
matters,  and  ascertaining  the  bias  of  the  planter  in 
regard  to  the  two  great  questions  then  agitating  the 
public  mind,  readily  came  over  to  the  same  side, 
and  eloquently  advocated  the  leading  measures  of 
the  party.  Satisfied  with  the  favourable  impres 
sion  made,  Whitney  then  effected  an  engagement, 
and  left  the  stranger.  An  hour  after,  they  met, 
seemingly  by  accident,  in  the  street.  Whitney 
showed  a  disposition  to  pass  on,  but  the  stranger 
paused,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  not  step  into 
the  bar  of  a  house  opposite  and  take  a  drink  with 
him.  To  this  he  consented. 

"  Have  you  been  about  the  city  much  ?"  he 
asked  of  the  planter,  as  they  returned  to  the  street, 

"  No,"  was  the  reply ;  "  I  have  been  so  much 
engaged  in  business  until  to-day,  that  I  have  not 
seen  anything." 

'I  have  an  hour  or  two  to  spare.  If  you  have 
any  curiosity,  I  will  show  you  about." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir.  I  will  accept  your 
offer  without  a  word." 

From  that  time  until  the  dinner  hour,  Whitney 
kept  the  unsuspecting  stranger's  mind  constantly 
interested. 

"  You  are  a  planter,  I  believe  ?"  he  said  during 
the  morning. 

"  Yes,  and  I  came  here  to  sell  my  crop." 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  125 

"  Have  you  disposed  of  it  ?" 

"Oh  yes." 

"  Who  bought  ?" 

"  Hatfield  and  Homer." 

"  At  eleven  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  We  are  above  them  a  quarter." 

"  Indeed !  Are  you  in  the  cotton-brokerage 
business  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  I  belong  to  one  of  the  oldest  firms 
in  Charleston.  For  the  last  five  years  we  have 
done  the  most  extensive  business  here.  The  rea 
son  is,  we  always  give  the  highest  possible  price 
the  market  will  afford." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  your  house  ?" 

"  Lily,  Frogmore,  &  Co.    I  am  a  junior  partner." 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  The  reputation  of  your  house  is 
well  known  throughout  our  country.  I  was  advised 
to  put  my  crop  into  your  hands  ;  but  I  brought  let 
ters  to  Hatfield  and  Horner,  and  therefore  gave 
them  the  management  of  my  cotton.  You  think  I 
could  have  obtained  a  quarter  of  a  cent  more  ?" 

"  I  know  you  could.     We  would  have  given  it." 

"  I  wish  we  had  met  before  ;  but  it  is  too  late 
now — regrets  are  useless." 

During  a  pause  in  a  subsequent  conversation, 
the  planter  said, 

"  You  will  dine  with  me  ?" 

"  Thank  you  ;  but  I  believe  I  must  ask  to  be  ex 
cused." 

"  Are  you  a  married  man  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Then  I  will  take  no  excuse.  No  one  will 
miss  you." 

L2 


126  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

Whitney  affected  still  to  hesitate,  but  the  warm 
hearted  Southron  would  not  be  refused.  At  din 
ner  they  drank  freely,  but  the  former  could  bear 
twice  the  number  of  glasses. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  country  around  Charles 
ton  ?"  asked  Whitney,  while  they  sat  smoking, 
half  an  hour  after  the  removal  of  the  cloth. 

"  No,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  have  a  pair  of  splendid  ponies.  If  agree 
able  to  you,  I  will  have  them  brought  round.  I 
usually  drive  out  in  the  afternoon." 

"  I  will  accompany  you  with  pleasure." 

Whitney  then  went  to  the  bar,  and  giving  the 
barkeeper  a  five-dollar  bill,  told  him  to  send  round 
to  a  livery  stable  close  at  hand,  and  get  for  him 
the  handsomest  buggy  wagon,  and  the  most  splen 
did  pair  of  horses  that  could  be  furnished.  Half 
an  hour  brought  them  to  the  door.  In  these  the 
two  men  flourished  about  the  city,  and  into  the 
surrounding  country,  highly  enjoying  themselves. 

Nothing  would  do  but  that  Whitney  must  re 
turn  with  the  planter  and  take  tea.  Seeming  anx 
ious  to  get  off,  he  yielded,  finally,  to  importunities 
that  were  pressed  upon  him.  After  tea  he  pro 
posed  a  visit  to  the  theatre.  No  objection,  of 
course.  A  new  company  had  just  appeared  in 
town,  with  sundry  attractions.  The  curtain  fell  at 
eleven  o'clock,  and  the  planter  and  his  interesting 
friend  left  the  building  with  the  delighted  crowd. 


A    STORY^OF   MARRIED    LIFE.  127 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

FLEECING    A    PLANTER. 

DURING  the  afternoon  and  evening  that  Whit 
ney  and  the  planter  were  together  they  drank  fre 
quently,  sometimes  at  the  suggestion  of  one,  and 
sometimes  the  other.  Whitney  had  been  more 
guarded  as  to  the  quantity  taken  at  each  successive 
"  drink  ;"  and,  besides,  he  could  bear  as  much 
again  as  the  other.  When  they  stepped  from  the 
theatre,  the  planter  was  not  in  a  very  sane  state  ; 
many  indications  of  this  had  been  seen  by  Whit 
ney  while  the  play  was  in  progress. 

"  You  remember,"  said  the  latter,  as  they  walked 
towards  the  hotel,  arm-in-arm,  "  what  we  were  talk 
ing  about  this  morning  1  The  subject,  in  fact,  that 
made  us  acquainted  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  ;  about  the  young  man  in  New-Orleans 
who  was  such  a  fool  as  to  blow  his  brains  out." 

"  Yes,  that  was  it.  He  got  into  the  company  of 
a  regular  sharper,  who  fleeced  him  in  less  than  no 
time.  One  of  your  cut-throat  black-legs." 

"The  only  thing  about  it  that  vexed  me,"  re 
turned  the  stranger,  "  was.  that  the  chap  didn't  put 
his  pistol  to  the  cheating  scoundrel's  ear  instead 
of  his  own.  It  could  have  been  just  as  easily 
done." 

"  Just  as  easily ;  and  certainly  a  much  more  ra 
tional  proceeding,"  chimed  in  Whitney.  "  The 
world  would  have  been  rid  of  another  villain." 


128  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

"  Truly  said.  Get  me  into  such  a  predicament, 
and  see  how  neatly  I'd  do  the  thing." 

There  was  an  earnestness  about  the  manner  in 
which  this  was  said  that  sounded  rather  unpleas 
antly  to  the  ear  of  Whitney  ;  but  he  trusted  to  its 
being  mere  braggadocio.  The  time  had  now  come 
for  him  to  bring  the  game  he  had  been  playing  all 
day  with  such  consummate  skill  to  a  termination. 
This  required  some  address  ;  but  the  "  pigeon" 
was  in  a  very  good  condition,  and  quite  ready  to 
be  "  spitted." 

"  Well,  I  believe  we  have  seen  about  all  that  is 
worth  looking  after?"  he  said,  pausing  a  short  dis 
tance  from  the  public-house,  "  unless  you  have  the 
curiosity  to  look  into  one  of  those  execrable  places, 
well  named  '  hells.'  There  are  two  or  three  in 
this  neighbourhood.  I  never  was  inside  of  any 
of  them  but  once  in  my  life,  and  then  I  was  in 
search  of  an  infatuated  friend.  But  it  might  be  a 
matter  of  interest  to  you  just  to  see  how  such 
things  are  managed.  I  merely  mention  it.  If  you 
had  rather  not,  I'm  sure  I  have  no  curiosity  in  re 
gard  to  the  matter." 

"  Can  you  go  in  and  come  away  without  attract 
ing  attention  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly.  No  one  will  take  any  notice 
of  you." 

"  Then  I  should  like  to  go  above  all  things  in 
the  world.  I  want  to  know  how  the  thing  is 
done." 

"  Well,  just  as  you  like,"  Whitney  said,  indif 
ferently.  "  Let  me  see.  Where  shall  we  go  first  ? 
Oh,  yes  !  we'll  drop  into  Corbini's.  That's  worth 
a  visit.  It's  close  at  hand  into  the  bargain. 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  129 

The  two  companions  then  turned  down  a  dark- 
looking  street,  along  which  they  proceeded  for  the 
distance  of  two  or  three  hundred  yards,  when  they 
paused  before  what  seemed  a  house  of  entertain 
ment.  And  so  it  appeared  only  to  be — at  least  to 
the  countryman — on  entering  it ;  for  the  first  thing 
that  met  his  eye  was  a  handsome  bar,  with  two  or 
three  attendants,  around  which  a  number  of  per 
sons  were  standing,  some  talking,  some  eating 
oysters,  and  others  drinking.  The  "  pigeon"  had 
taken  quite  as  much  as  Whitney  wished  him  to 
lake.  Still,  he  insisted  on  another  drink.  Lemon 
ade  was  proposed,  and  agreed  to  ;  so  they  took  a 
glass  of  lemonade  together. 

"  Now  let  us  go  up  and  look  about  us,"  said 
Whitney. 

"  Up  where  ?" 

"  Up  stairs  into  the  gambling- room.  No  one 
will  know  us." 

Saying  this,  Whitney  led  the  way,  and  the  other 
followed.  The  first  room  they  entered  was  richly 
furnished  with  carpets,  marble-slab  tables,  and  mir 
rors.  There  was  no  one  in  it  but  themselves.  After 
looking  around  for  some  time,  and  admiring  its  ar 
rangement,  they  passed  into  a  second.  There  they 
found  a  party  of  four  at  "  brag."  The  individuals 
composing  this  party  were  so  intent  upon  their 
game,  that  they  only  glanced  at  the  strangers,  and 
then  became  entirely  absorbed  in  their  occupation. 
Two  considerable  piles  of  money  lay  upon  each 
side  of  the  table.  Portions  of  these  were  every 
now  and  then  changed  from  one  to  the  other,  back 
ward  and  forward,  according  as  the  game  progress 
ed.  The  planter  looked  on  for  some  time,  until  he 


130  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS! 

became  quite  interested.  Whitney  at  length  touched 
his  arm,  and  the  two  passed  into  a  third  apartment. 
Several  tables  were  in  this  room,  and  two  or  three 
little  groups  engaged  at  cards.  One  or  two  men 
were  walking  about,  as  mere  spectators,  looking 
first  at  one  table  and  then  at  another.  As  Whit 
ney  and  his  new  friend  came  in,  one  of  them  ad 
vanced  to  the  former,  and  taking  him  cordially  by 
the  hand,  said,  in  a  low  tone, 

"  Why,  hallo,  Bob  !  what,  in  the  name  of  seven 
wonders,  are  you  doing  here  ?  It's  about  the  last 
place  in  all  creation  I  should  expect  to  see  you." 

"  And  I  might  ask  the  same  question  of  you — 
though,  like  myself,  I  suppose  you  have  come  out 
of  mere  curiosity,  to  see  what  is  to  be  seen  ;  but 
let  me  make  you  acquainted  with  my  friend,  Mr. 

Melton,  from  P .  This,  Mr.  Melton,  is  Mr. 

Hope  well,  of  the  house  of  Thompson,  Hope  well, 
and  Smith." 

Hands  were  shaken  and  beavers  tipped  quite 
gracefully,  when  W7hitney  went  on. 

"  Mr.  Melton  and  I  have  been  riding  about  most 
of  the  afternoon  to  see  what  was  worth  seeing  in 
our  environs.  To-night  we  went  to  the  play  ;  and 
now  we  are  here  to  finish  the  day  in  sight-seeing. 
I  thought  it  would  be  a  rare  treat  for  my  friend  to 
get  a  glance  within  this  charmed  circle.  It  must 
be  a  new  world  to  him." 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  said  the  planter,  "  quite  a  new 
world  ;  and  much  indebted  am  I  for  your  kindness 
in  taking  so  much  trouble  to  oblige  me." 

"  There  are  many  more  rooms  besides  those  we 
have  yet  been  in,"  Whitney  returned  to  this,  moving 
towards  a  door  that  seemed  to  open  into  a  suite  of 


A   STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  131 

rooms  beyond.  "  Won't  you  walk  around  with  us, 
Mr.  Hope  well  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,  with  the  greatest  pleasure  ;"  and 
Mr.  Hopewell  joined  them  in  their  perambulations. 
After  going  through  several  apartments,  and  linger 
ing  among  them  for  some  time,  they  came  to  a 
small  but  more  richly-furnished  room  than  any 
they  had  yet  seen,  far  back  from  the  street,  in  the 
third  story  of  the  building.  A  neat  chandelier 
with  a  profusion  of  brilliants  hung  from  the  ceil 
ing  immediately  over  a  table  covered  with  a  slab 
of  beautiful  variegated  Italian  marble.  Upon  this 
was  a  pack  of  cards,  that  looked  as  if  they  had 
never  been  handled,  except  for  a  very  few  times. 

"  Really  this  is  beautiful !"  ejaculated  Whitney, 
gazing  around  for  some  moments  with  well-affected 
astonishment,  and  then  quietly  seating  himself  upon 
a  sofa.  His  companions  imitated  his  example. 

"  One  can  hardly  believe  that  this  handsome 
apartment  is  dedicated  to  the  nefarious  purposes 
that  it  is,"  the  individual  introduced  as  Hopewell 
said. 

"  It  seems  scarcely  possible,"  replied  Whitney  ; 
"  and  yet,  it  has  seen  the  ruin  of  many  a  poor 
fellow." 

"  No  doubt  of  it ;"  and  as  Hopewell  said  this,  he 
drew  a  chair  up  to  the  table  and  commenced  look 
ing  over  the  pack  of  cards.  Some  remark  about 
them  brought  Whitney  to  his  side,  and  the  planter, 
of  course. 

"  It  would  be  quite  a  novel  affair,  wouldn't  it, 
Bob,"  remarked  Hopewell,  laughing,  "  for  us  to 
take  a  quiet  game  here,  with  the  very  cards  that 
have  done  so  much  mischief?" 


132  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  : 

Whitney  shook  his  head.  "  Perhaps  my  friend 
here  would  rather  not." 

"  Oh  no,  gentlemen,  I  have  not  the  slightest  ob 
jection  to  a  game  or  two.  I  am  very  fond  of 
whist,"  replied  Melton,  promptly. 

"  Three  can't  play  at  whist,"  objected  Whitney. 

"  I  saw  Harry  Sanders  down  stairs,"  the  man 
called  Hope  well  immediately  said.  u  Harry  San 
ders,  of  the  firm  of  Max  and  Pimlico.  I'll  ask  him 
to  join  us,  if  you've  no  objections." 

"  You  may  do  so  if  you  choose,"  Whitney  re 
plied,  half  indifferently. 

Hopewell  went  down  stairs,  but  returned  in  a 
short  time  with  a  fine,  gentlemanly-looking  indi 
vidual,  who  was  greeted  by  Whitney  with  famili 
arity.  Between  him  and  the  planter  an  introduc 
tion  took  place.  Then  cotton-planting  and  cotton- 
selling  were  talked  about  for  some  time. 

"  But  didn't  you  say  that  you  wanted  me  to  take 
a  hand  at  whist  ?"  Sanders  at  length  remarked,  in 
terrupting  the  conversation. 

"  True,"  returned  Hopewell ;  and  the  four  at 
once  surrounded  the  table. 

We  need  not  follow,  step  by  step,  the  progress 
of  the  games  that  succeeded,  nor  go  into  a  detail 
of  the  little  artifices  resorted  to  in  order  to  induce 
the  more  than  half-intoxicated  planter  to  stake  his 
money.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  he  was  gradu 
ally  led  on  and  on,  until  he  was  fairly  in  the  toils 
so  skilfully  laid  for  his  feet.  When  he  left  that 
"  infernal  region,"  at  an  hour  far  advanced  towards 
morning,  he  had  seen  the  last  of  thirty  thousand 
dollars  pass  from  his  trembling  hands. 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  133 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A   MELANCHOLY    HISTORY. 

A  FEW  words  only  are  required  to  enable  the 
reader  to  understand  the  new  and  somewhat  start 
ling  position  in  which  he  finds  his  former  acquaint 
ance,  Charles  Whitney.  After  his  marriage  he 
showed  as  little  disposition  to  attend  to  business  as 
before.  It  was  in  vain  that  his  father  remonstrated 
with  him.  Why  should  he  vegetate  in  a  counting- 
room,  over  old  legers,  or  trouble  his  brains  about  the 
prices  of  goods,  when  his  "  old  man"  had  enough 
for  all  his  future  wants  ?  It  was  much  more  agree 
able  to  spend  his  time  in  idle  pleasure-taking,  and 
he  consulted  his  inclination  rather  than  the  wishes 
and  judgment  of  his  father.  For  a  year  or  two,  old 
Mr.  Whitney  allowed  his  son  to  draw  whatever 
money  he  wanted ;  but,  as  his  draughts  grew  heavier 
and  heavier,  while  his  attention  to  business  was 
less  and  less  constant,  he  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to 
lay  some  restrictions  upon  him.  This  caused  the 
young  man  to  become  excited,  and  betrayed  him 
into  rather  hasty  and  imprudent  remarks,  the  con 
sequence  of  which  was  a  separation  between  him 
and  his  father,  attended  by  a  material  reduction  of 
supplies. 

During  this  time,  Emily,  his  wife,  had  been 
treated  by  her  husband  with  as  much  kindness  as 
one  like  him  was  capable  of  showing  to  a  woman. 
M 


134  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

He  was  away  from  her  a  great  deal,  and  had  nearly 
all  of  his  pleasures  independent  of  her.  But  still 
he  was  fond  of  his  wife,  and  proud  of  her  beauty. 
His  manner,  when  at  home,  was  uniformly  kind. 
She  did  not  complain  of  his  absence,  although  she 
felt  it  keenly,  and  this  prevented  the  occurrence 
of  anything  personally  unpleasant  between  them. 

Not  long  after  the  rupture  which  took  place  be 
tween  Mr.  Whitney  and  his  son,  the  old  man  died, 
leaving  to  Charles  twenty  thousand  dollars,  as  a  suf 
ficient  sum  to  commence  business  upon  if  disposed  to 
pursue  any  business,  and  quite  sufficient  to  squan 
der,  if  he  felt  no  disposition  to  change  his  habits. 
Deeply  incensed  at  his  father,  Whitney  at  first  re 
fused  to  touch  the  "  pitiful  sum"  assigned  to  him 
by  the  will ;  but  the  pressing  demands  of  creditors, 
who  had  heard  the  rumour  about  his  being  cut  off 
with  a  mere  pittance,  led  him  to  change  his  mind. 
He  took  the  money,  and  paid  away  five  thousand 
dollars  in  the  settlement  of  sundry  bills.  Instead, 
then,  of  seeking  to  invest  the  balance  profitably,  he 
continued  his  idle — alas !  that  we  should  have  to 
say,  vicious — courses.  His  elegant  establishment 
was  still  kept  up.  Brilliant  entertainments  were 
given  as  before  ;  and  thus  he  wasted  rapidly  the 
little  that  remained.  But  worse  than  this.  The 
pleasure-seeking  sons  of  rich  fathers  move  in  a 
sphere  beset  with  temptations  hard  to  be  resisted. 
In  this  sphere  Whitney  felt  the  force  of  strong  al 
lurements  to  evil.  One  of  its  most  direful  tempta 
tions  is  that  of  gaming.  There  is,  in  all  large 
cities,  a  class  of  men  who  live  upon  the  ruin  of 
others — gamblers.  A  young  man  with  plenty  of 
money  to  spend,  and  plenty  of  time  upon  his 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  '135 

hands,  is  almost  sure  to  be  either  entrapped  or 
strongly  tempted  from  virtue  by  some  one  of  this 
class.  The  danger  is  imminent.  The  business 
of  these  men  is  to  win  money,  instead  of  earning 
it  by  honourable  industry  in  the  various  branches 
of  trade,  and  they  study  their  business  thoroughly. 

A  man,  whose  profession  was  gambling,  saw 
Whitney,  understood  him  thoroughly,  and  resolved 
on  making  him  a  victim.  He  insinuated  himself 
dexterously  into  his  confidence,  and  then  gradually 
led  him  away  into  the  vice  of  gaming.  After  this, 
by  accomplices,  he  won  from  him,  while  he  yet 
had  control  of  as  much  money  as  he  wanted,  large 
sums.  After  the  death  of  his  father,  this  man  pro 
fessed  to  feel  a  great  interest  in  him,  arid  held  out, 
as  a  means  of  sustaining  himself,  the  certain  gains 
of  his  own  profession,  that  was  now  openly  de 
clared.  Hitherto,  Whitney  had  not  suspected  that 
his  friend  was  a  principal,  with  an  extensive  ar 
rangement  of  subordinates  not  only  in  New-York, 
but  in  various  parts  of  the  country.  Under  other 
circumstances,  such  a  discovery  would  have  been 
startling  to  him.  Now  it  affected  him  differently. 
He  soon  learned  many  of  the  tricks  of  the  pro 
fession,  and  entered  upon  their  practice  with  some 
success.  In  return  for  the  favours  done  him  by  his 
pretended  friend,  that  individual  managed,  through 
one  of  his  subordinates,  whose  relation  was  unsus 
pected  by  Whitney,  to  get  at  least  ten  thousand 
dollars  of  his  legacy. 

For  about  three  years  after  his  father's  death, 
Whitney  managed  to  keep  up  appearances ;  but  at 
the  end  of  that  period,  fortune  turned  upon  him  a 
less  smiling  countenance.  During  this  time,  his 


136  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS! 

irregular  habits,  and  more  especially  his  altered 
appearance  and  manner,  troubled  much  the  heart 
of  his  uncomplaining  wife.  Her  face  had  become 
thoughtful — her  eye  dreamy.  This  change  he 
could  not  help  seeing,  nor  help  feeling  its  silent 
rebuke.  Had  she  questioned  him  too  closely  of 
his  habits — had  she  complained  of  her  loneliness 
— had  she  wept  before  him  on  account  of  neglect, 
his  heart  would  have  grown  hard  towards  her  ;  but 
the  smile  with  which  she  always  greeted  his  re 
turn,  and  the  fond  allurements  with  which  she  so 
unobtrusively  strove  to  keep  him  by  her  side,  made 
him  feel  for  her  much  tenderness.  The  fading 
rose  upon  her  cheek,  whose  delicate  tints  grew 
paler  and  paler  every  day,  often  awoke  bitter  up- 
braidings  in  his  bosom.  But  it  was  too  late,  he 
deemed,  to  change  his  course. 

Seven  years  had  passed  since  her  happy  wed 
ding-day,  when  Emily,  seated  by  a  window  in  a 
house  far  less  imposing  than  the  one  she  had  lived 
in  during  the  first  five  or  six  years  of  her  married 
life,  and  far  less  elegantly  arranged  within,  looked 
dreamily  out  upon  the  busy  street,  her  thoughts 
unaffected  by  the  scene  before  her.  Two  children 
were  playing  quietly  about  the  room.  A  third,  her 
first-born,  was  sleeping  its  mortal  sleep.  Three 
months  before,  it  had  fallen  beneath  the  sickle  of 
the  reaper  Death.  The  thoughts  of  the  mother 
were  with  her  lost  one.  While  thus  sadly  musing, 
her  husband,  unexpectedly,  came  in.  He  sat  down 
by  her  side,  and  taking  her  hand  with  more  tender 
ness  than  he  usually  displayed,  said,  in  a  slightly 
hesitating  voice, 

"  Emily,  I  shall  have  to  leave  New-York." 


A    STORY   OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  137 

The  wife  started,  turned  pale,  and  looked  her 
husband  earnestly  and  inquiringly  in  the  face. 

"  I  find  it  impossible  to  keep  up  here.  I  strug 
gle  ha'rd"  (in  what  business,  Emily  really  did  not 
know  ;  her  husband  had  never  ventured  to  inform 
her  truly ;  she  had  been  easily  satisfied  by  his 
vague  accounts).  "  Still,  it  is  of  no  use.  New- 
York  is  not  the  place  for  me  ;  but  I  have  an  offer 
of  business,  if  I  will  go  South,  that  is  very  advan 
tageous.  Are  you  willing  to  go,  Emily  ?" 

"  I  will  go  anywhere  with  yon,  dear  Charles," 
the  wife  said,  leaning  heavily  against  him  as  she 
spoke,  and  looking  into  his  face  with  dim,  but  af 
fectionate  eyes.  His  unusual  tenderness  of  voice 
and  manner  had  touched  her  feelings.  "  But  it 
will  be  hard  to  leave  my  mother.  There  is  little 
in  New- York  besides  her  that  has  any  power  to 
hold  me." 

"  If  you  had  rather  stay  with  her,"  Whitney 
said,  after  sitting  thoughtful  for  some  time,  c<  I  will 
not  object.  Money  to  meet  your  expenses  can  be 
regularly  transmitted." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  Charles  !"  she  quickly  returned, 
"  I  am  ready  to  go  with  you  anywhere.  Am  I  not 
your  wife  ?  and  are  not  these  your  children  ?  We 
must  not  be  separated." 

In  one  month,  Emily,  with  a  sad,  foreboding 
heart,  parted  with  her  mother.  She  sailed,  with 
her  husband  and  children,  in  a  packet  for  New- 
Orleans.  At  that  city  she  spent  nearly  two  years, 
her  husband  absent  from  her  most  of  the  time 
He  was  engaged  in  business  up  the  river,  and  only 
visited  New-Orleans  about  once  in  two  or  three 
months  and  then  for  only  a  few  days  or  a  week 
M2 


138  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

He  kept  his  wife  moderately  supplied  with  money, 
enough  to  meet  her  own  and  the  children's  wants. 
How  he  obtained  this  she  did  not  certainly  know, 
although,  by  this  time,  she  more  than  guessed  the 
truth. 

One  day,  after  the  expiration  of  about  two  years, 
he  was  brought  home  in  a  very  low  state.  He  had 
been  severely  wounded  (shot  accidentally,  he  sta 
ted  to  Emily)  in  an  affray,  in  which  he  was  at 
tacked  by  a  man  from  whom  he  had  won  a  con 
siderable  sum  of  money.  The  victim  suspected, 
justly  enough,  that  there  had  been  foul  play,  and 
he  sought  revenge  by  an  attempt  to  kill  Whitney. 
In  this  he  came  very  near  being  successful.  The 
wound,  which  was  from  a  rifle-pistol,  proved  to  be 
a  very  dangerous  one,  and  was  rendered  doubly  so  in 
consequence  of  a  violent  fever.  From  the  effects 
of  both  combined,  he  was  brought  very  near  to 
death.  As  soon  as  he  could  be  moved,  he  caused 
himself  to  be  placed  on  board  of  a  steamboat,  and 
thus  conveyed  to  New-Orleans.  By  the  time  he 
arrived  there,  he  could  sit  up  in  a  carriage,  sup 
ported  on  either  side  by  the  captain  and  clerk  of 
the  boat.  In  this  way  he  was  taken  home  to  his 
wife. 

To  Emily  his  sudden  appearance  in  so  alarming 
a  condition  was  a  dreadful  shock.  As  he  gradu 
ally  recovered,  she  urged  Jiim  not  to  leave  her 
again,  or,  if  his  business  still  required  him  to  be  so 
much  of  his  time  in  the  upper  country,  to  take  her 
with  him.  To  this  he  replied  that  he  should  not 
go  on  the  river  again  ;  that  he  would  remain  in 
New-Orleans.  This  he  did  for  some  months,  then 
he  removed  to  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  where 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  139 

the  reader  has  been  introduced  to  him  as  an  agent 
in  a  very  disreputable  affair  indeed.  Here  he  did 
not  meet  with  the  success,  as  a  regular  gambler, 
that  had  crowned  his  efforts  on  the  Mississippi  and 
Ohio,  in  the  steamboats  of  which  he  had  spent  a 
greater  portion  of  his  time.  Often  he  was  much 
straitened.  At  last,  rinding  that  he  lacked  the  pe 
culiar  ability  required  to  ensure  success,  he  con 
nected  himself  with  the  keeper  of  an  extensive 
"  hell,"  as  a  "  stool  pigeon,"  or  one  whose  business 
it  is  to  entice  people  by  deceptive  arts,  and  bring 
them  in  contact  with  men  who  will  either  win  their 
money  by  superior  skill,  or  cheat  them  out  of  it  by 
playing  unfairly.  Even  in  this  detestable  calling  he 
had  hard  work  to  make  enough  to  minister  to  the 
wants  of  his  family — or,  rather,  to  minister  to  their 
wants,  and  supply  himself  with  the  means  of  dash 
ing  about,  and  spending  freely  with  the  free.  From 
the  best  hotel  in  the  place,  where  he  had  at  first 
lived,  he  found  himself  compelled  to  go  down  to  one 
less  expensive,  and  again  to  descend  still  lower.  We 
find  him  and  his  family  in  this  last  position,  their 
bill  for  boarding,  the  accumulation  of  three  months, 
unpaid.  Emily  is  greatly  changed.  Poorly  clad, 
broken  down  in  health  and  spirits,  toiling  on  early 
and  late  for  her  children,  and  yet  clinging  to  her 
husband  with  undying  affection — to  that  husband 
who  might  have  lifted  her  up  instead  of  depressing 
her — who  might  have  made  her  sky  bright  with 
sunshine,  instead  of  dark  with  clouds. 


140  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

DREADFUL   CONSEQUENCES. 

IT  was  about  nine  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the 
day  succeeding  the  one  on  which  the  occurrences 
took  place  that  have  been  described  in  the  chapter 
before  the  last,  that  a  man,  in  a  disturbed  condition, 
entered  the  store  of  Lily,  Frogmore,  and  Co.,  and 
asked  to  see  the  junior  partner  of  the  house. 

"  I  am  the  individual,"  returned  the  man  he  ad 
dressed. 

11  You  ?"  and  the  stranger  looked  incredulous. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am  he.  Do  you  wish  to  see  me 
particularly  ?" 

"  I  want  to  see  the  junior  partner  of  the  firm  of 
Lily,  Frogmore,  and  Co." 

"  There  is  but  one  junior  partner,  and  I  am  the 
man." 

"  Is  Mr.  Lily  in  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.    There  he  stands  in  the  store." 

The  stranger's  eye  followed  quickly  the  direction 
given  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  saw  Mr.  Lily,  he  shook 
his  head. 

"  And  now,  be  so  kind  as  to  point  me  out  Mr. 
Frogmore,"  he  said. 

"  Here  he  is,"  turning  to  a  man  close  by. 

Again  the  interlocutor  shook  his  head.  He  now 
seemed  confused,  and  stood  thoughtful  for  some  mo 
ments.  Then  he  said, 


A   STORY    OF   MARRIED   LIFE.  141 

"  A  cursed  villain,  calling  himself  the  junior  part 
ner  of  your  house,  has  assisted  to  cheat  me  out  of 
about  thirty  thousand  dollars.  I  am  now  in  search 
of  him.  My  money  or  his  life  must  come  !"  and 
the  stranger  ground  his  teeth  with  rage. 

"  That  was  doubtless  but  a  trick  to  deceive  you 
the  more  perfectly,"  replied  the  merchant,  at  once 
comprehending  the  situation  of  the  stranger :  "  a 
gambler's  stool  pigeon  has  many  characters." 

"  Yes,  but  he  introduced  me  to  several  mer 
chants  in  your  city,  with  whose  names  and  stand 
ing  I  am  perfectly  familiar.  Mr.  Hopewell,  for 
instance." 

"  What  kind  of  a  looking  man  was  Mr.  Hope- 
wellV1 

"  About  your  size  and  age,  I  should  say,  with  a 
pair  of  black  whiskers." 

"  Ha!  ha!  Another  villanous  deception.  The 
real  Mr.  Hopewell  is  fifty  years  of  age,  and  as  un 
like  the  man  you  describe  as  two  persons  can  be." 

This  caused  a  new  light  to  flash  upon  the  mind 
of  the  planter,  for  he  it  was.  He  stood  thoughtful 
for  a  little  while,  and  then  said, 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see  it  all  now.  It  was  a  regular 
scheme  to  make  me  a  victim ;  lo  fleece  me  out  of 
the  earnings  of  a  whole  year ;  but  they've  missed 
their  man.  They'll  not  find  me  fool  enough  to 
blow  out  my  brains.  No,  no.  I'll  play  on  the 
other  string.  Here  in  this  town  I  stay  until  I 
meet  this  'junior  partner,'  if  it  be  for  ten  years. 
He  can't  escape  me.  And  when  we  do  meet! 
Aha !"  With  a  look  of  bitter  revenge,  as  his  voice 
lingered  menacingly  on  the  closing  interjection,  he 
turned  away  and  left  the  store 


142  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS: 

All  the  morning  he  walked  the  streets  of  the 
city,  or  visited  the  various  public  houses,  in  search 
of  Whitney,  but  without  effect.  The  barkeeper  of 
the  hotel  where  he  lodged  knew  his  countenance 
well  enough,  but  not  his  name,  nor  the  place  where 
he  was  to  be  found.  After  dinner  the  planter  start 
ed  out  again.  In  the  first  tavern  he  entered,  he 
saw  Whitney,  with  two  or  three  others,  drinking  at 
the  bar.  Walking  up  to  him,  he  laid  his  hand 
heavily  upon  his  shoulder.  Whitney  turned  sud 
denly  round,  and  seeing  who  it  was  that  had 
made  so  familiar  with  him,  affected  anger  at  such 
an  insult  from  a  perfect  stranger. 

"  And  pray  who  are  you,  sir  ?"  he  asked,  in  re 
turn  for  the  bold,  fixed  look  that  the  other  placed 
upon  him. 

"You  don't  know  me,  then,  ha?"  and  Melton 
smiled  sneeringly. 

"  I  do  not  recollect  your  face,  certainly,"  was 
the  cool  reply. 

"You  don't?" 

"  No."  Whitney's  face  had  on  it  a  dark  scowl 
as  he  said  this. 

"  You  don't  remember  anything  about  the  young 
man  in  New-Orleans  who  fell  among  a  parcel  of 
thieving  gamblers,  and  who  was  fool  enough  to 
blow  out  his  brains  in  consequence,  ha  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  Perhaps  this  will  assist  your  memory."  The 
young  man  quickly  drew  a  pistol,  and  placed  it  at 
the  ear  of  Whitney,  the  hammer  clicking  sharply 
as  the  cold  barrel  touched  his  face.  Half  a  dozen 
persons  seized  the  partially  deranged  planter,  but 
their  interference  only  made  the  horrible  catas- 


A    8TORY    OF    MARPIED    LIFE.  143 

trophe  more  certain.  The  pistol  exploded,  and 
Whitney  fell  instantly  lifeless. 

It  would  add  but  little  either  to  the  interest  or 
moral  of  our  story  to  present  to  the  reader's  mind 
a  picture  of  the  anguish  that  smote  the  heart  of 
poor  Emily  when  the  awful  tidings  came  to  her 
of  her  husband's  death,  or  when  she  bent  over  his 
ghastly  corpse  in  a  delirium  of  grief.  She  had 
loved  him  on  through  evil  and  good  report.  As 
their  way  grew  darker  and  more  toilsome,  she 
drew  the  closer  to  his  side,  seeking  rather  to  sus 
tain  than  lean  against  him.  He,  with  the  children 
she  had  borne  him,  were  all  the  world  to  her.  For 
him,  it  may  be  said  that  his  manner  towards  Emily 
was  never  harsh,  though  too  often  cold.  He  loved 
her  as  tenderly  as  such  a  man  could  love  a  wife, 
and  was  as  kind  to  her  as  he  was  capable  of  being. 
This  small  return  for  her  deep  devotion  was  taken 
without  a  murmur ;  if  it  did  not  satisfy  her  heart, 
it  did  not  weaken  the  strength  of  her  affection. 
The  sky  that  had  for  years  bent  over  her  was  a 
dark  and  stormy  sky.  A  single  star  glimmering 
through  a  rifted  cloud  was  all  the  light  it  shed 
upon  her  weary  way.  Now  that  cloud  had  sud 
denly  closed  its  severed  fragments — the  star  was 
hidden  forever! 

Of  the  true  cause  of  her  husband's  death,  Emily 
remained  ignorant.  The  full  account  of  it,  which 
appeared  in  the  city  papers  of  the  next  day,  was 
not  seen  by  her.  All  she  knew  was,  that  he  had 
been  suddenly  assailed  by  one  who  mistook  him 
for  a  person  that  had  wronged  him,  and  killed  ere 
the  mistake  was  discovered.  After  the  funeral,  a 
sufficient  sum  of  money  was  placed  in  her  hands 


144  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  \ 

to  convey  her,  with  her  children,  to  New-York. 
This  was  done  by  several  of  her  husband's  pro 
fessional  friends. 

As  for  the  planter,  he  was  arrested,  tried  for 
murder,  and  acquitted.  We  give  the  fact.  The 
principal  in  the  affair  left  the  city  an  hour  after 
the  death  of  his  accomplice,  with  the  booty  he  had 
gained,  and  was  never  afterward  seen  in  Charles 
ton.  Thus  terminated  the  affair,  leaving  at  least 
one  of  the  actors  a  wiser  man. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   WRECK  OF   EARLY   HOPES. 

"  POOR  Mrs.  Allison  !"  was  the  sympathizing 
remark  of  Doctor  Arlington,  uttered  almost  invol 
untarily,  as  he  sat  musing  on  the  evening  after 
having  dismissed  her  case.  "  She  lives  on  only 
for  her  children." 

"  Mrs.  Allison  !  Oh  yes  ;  how  is  she  ?"  said 
the  wife  of  the  doctor,  lifting  her  eyes  from  a 
newspaper  she  held  in  her  hand. 

"  She  is  better  than  she  was  ;  but  better  only  for 
the  sake  of  her  children.  Nothing  but  her  love  for 
them  keeps  her  alive.  There  is  something  very 
mysterious  in  her  manner  towards  her  husband. 
She  seems  to  be  struggling  with  herself  to  keep 
from  loathing  him.  And  he  certainly  has  no  af 
fection  for  her.  When  I  left  him  this  morning, 
after  informing  him  that  my  attendance  was  no 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  145 

longer  required,  he  thanked  me  coldly  for  what  I 
had  done,  and  said  he  hoped  there  would  not  be 
another  recurrence  of  the  disease  that  had  render 
ed  medical  treatment  necessary.  I  certainly  hope 
there  will  not.  If  so,  his  conduct  will  be  changed  ; 
for  that  his  treatment  of  her  has  something  to  do 
with  the  sudden  illness  from  which  she  has  just 
recovered,  I  have  little  doubt.  To  me  it  has  been 
a  very  painful  case.  I  can  bear  with  professional 
composure  to  see  the  body  wasting  away  under  a 
disease  that  does  not  depend  upon  the  patient's 
state  of  mind  ;  but  when  the  mind's  distress  is  so 
acute  as  to  prostrate  the  physical  system,  my  sym 
pathies  are  all  alive.  The  cause  of  Mrs.  Allison's 
severe  illness  is  evidently  a  mental  one,  and  has 
particular  reference  to  her  marriage  relation." 

Mrs.  Arlington  did  not  reply  to  these  remarks  of 
her  husband.  They  awakened  thoughts  which 
she  did  not  wish  to  utter.  They  led  her  to  con 
trast  her  own  happy  condition  with  what  it  must 
have  been  had  she  married  the  fascinating,  but  un 
principled  individual  who,  at  one  time,  had  drawn 
out  towards  him  her  young  affections.  An  inward 
shudder  caused  her  heart  momentarily  to  pause,  as 
imagination  pictured  herself  in  the  position  of  Al 
lison's  wife  j  but  the  consciousness  of  a  glad  re 
ality  sent  quickly  a  warm  glow  through  her  bosom. 

A  bright  little  boy  came  in  at  this  moment,  and 
taking  his  place  upon  his  father's  knee,  began  to 
relate  the  wonders  he  had  seen  in  Broadway, 
while  walking  out  that  afternoon  with  the  nurse. 
Mrs.  Arlington  resumed  her  newspaper,  but  soon 
interrupted  the  prattle  of  her  child  by  saying,  with 
some  concern  in  her  voice, 
N 


146  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS: 

"  Just  listen,  dear.  *  Died  on  the  14th  inst., 
Mrs.  Emily  Clarence,  aged  fifty-seven  years.' " 

"  Mrs.  Emily  Clarence  !  who  is  she  ?"  inquired 
the  doctor. 

"  The  mother  of  Mrs.  Whitney." 

"  Indeed  ?" 

"  Yes ;  it  is  my  old  friend,  Mrs.  Clarence,  in 
whose  house  I  have  spent  many  a  happy  hour. 
But  where  can  her  daughter  be  ?  I  wonder  if  it 
is  possible  that  she  is  in  New-York?  I  really 
feel  condemned  to  think  that  I  have  not,  since  our 
residence  in  the  city,  sought  out  Mrs.  Clarence, 
and  renewed  our  acquaintance.  She  was  an  ex 
cellent,  kind-hearted,  but  rather  weak  woman.  Af 
ter  my  refusal  of  Mr.  Allison's  offer,  Emily,  influ 
enced  by  her  husband,  I  have  no  doubt,  ceased  to 
communicate  with  me  by  letter,  as  formerly  ;  and, 
under  the  circumstances,  I  did  not  feel  inclined  to 
visit  at  her  mother's,  where  I  would  be  likely  to 
meet  her,  especially  as  two  notes  written  to  her 
remained  unanswered." 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  have  any  particular 
cause  for  self-condemnation,"  the  husband  said ; 
"  I  should  think  you  acted  pretty  nearly  right." 

"  Perhaps  so.  Still,  I  can't  help  wishing  that  I 
had  made  some  effort  to  find  Mrs.  Clarence. 
Through  her  I  should  have  learned  whether  Emily 
were  still  living,  and,  if  alive,  her  condition.  My 
old  feelings  for  this  pleasant  friend  of  early  years 
have  not  yet  subsided.  I  often  think  of  her  with 
much  interest." 

"  Is  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Clarence  given  in  the 
notice  you  have  there  ?" 

''  No ;  there  is  nothing  but  what  I  hare  read  to 
you." 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  147 

"  When  did  she  die  !" 

"  On  the  14th." 

"  And  this  is  the  21st  of  the  month." 

"  Yes  ;  she  has  been  dead  for  a  week." 

Here  the  conversation  dropped  again.  While 
the  doctor  sported  with  his  prattling  child,  the 
thoughts  of  his  wife  continued  to  rest  upon  her 
friend  of  other  days  ;  and  with  these  thoughts 
came  also  the  yearnings  of  old  affections.  An 
hour  after,  the  doctor  was  called  out  to  see  a  pa 
tient.  He  did  riot  return  until  a  late  hour. 

At  breakfast  on  the  next  morning,  he  was  more 
than  usually  thoughtful  and  silent.  Flora  noticed 
this,  and  rightly  conjecturing  that  he  was  occupied 
in  some  professional  matter  of  more  than  ordinary 
interest,  made  no  remark  that  referred  to  his  ab 
sent-mindedness.  That  evening,  after  the  little 
ones  had  retired,  and  they  were  alone,  Doctor  Ar 
lington  said, 

"  Flora,  I  met  with  a  case  to-day  as  strange,  in 
some  respects,  as  that  of  Mrs.  Allison." 

"  What  was  it,  dear  ?"  his  wife  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  find  that  a  lady 
whom  I  saw  last  evening  is  no  other  than  your 
old  friend,  Mrs.  Whitney." 

"  Why,  husband !"  exclaimed  Flora,  starting 
forward. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true  ;  and  she  is  almost  as  much  a 
wreck  as  Mrs.  Allison." 

Mrs.  Arlington  looked  into  her  husband's  face 
with  mute  surprise. 

"  She  is  now,"  continued  the  doctor,  "  lying 
very  ill  at  the  house  where  her  mother  died.  She 
arrived  from  Charleston,  in  a  packet,  two  days 


148  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  . 

ago,  with  one  child.  She  had  two  when  she  left ; 
but  the  other  sickened  on  the  way,  and  was  taken 
from  the  evil  to  come.  I  have  learned  that  her 
husband,  who  for  years  has  lived  by  gambling,  be 
came  involved  in  some  difficulty  with  a  man  from 
whom  he  had  won  a  large  sum  of  money,  and  that 
the  man  shot  him  dead.  His  wife  then  took  her 
two  children,  and  returned  to  New-York  by  sea,  to 
find  a  home  once  more  with  her  mother ;  but,  as 
you  are  aware,  that  mother  was  dead.  The  death 
of  her  husband,  under  such  terrible  circumstances, 
shocked  both  mind  and  body  ;  the  loss  of  one  of 
her  children  at  sea,  and  then  the  dreadful  news 
that  her  mother  was  likewise  in  the  grave,  com 
pleted  the  work.  When  called  in,  I  found  her  body 
under  the  influence  of  a  raging  fever,  and  her  mind 
in  delirium." 

"  Dreadful !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Arlington. 

"  To-day  there  is  some  abatement  of  the  fever, 
though  her  mind  still  wanders.  She  talks  continu 
ally  in  a  sad,  mournful  strain  ;  sometimes  incohe 
rently,  but  often  uttering  whole  sentences  that  ex 
press  most  touchingly  how  much  she  has  suffered 
from  loneliness  and  neglect.  '  Oh,  Charles,'  she 
said  once,  *  why  do  you  stay  away  so  long,  so  very 
long  ?  I  sit  up  and  work  until  I  ache  with  weari 
ness.  There  !  it  is  three  o'clock,  and  he  hasn't 
come  yet.  Where  does  he  stay  so  long — so  long 
— oh  !  so  very  long  ?'  A  great  deal  like  this  she 
utters,  with  touching  pathos." 

"  Does  she  look  at  all  as  she  used  to  look  ?" 
asked  Flora. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  known  her.     The  brow  that 
was  once  so  smooth  is  now  seamed  with  many 


A  STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  149 

lines  ;  there  is  no  bloom  upon  her  cheeks,  now  this 
and  sallow  ;  her  eye  has  lost  its  brightness  ;  she  is 
indeed  a  wreck." 

Tears  were  rolling  down  the  face  of  Mrs.  Ar 
lington,  as,  rising  from  her  chair,  she  came  up  to 
the  doctor,  and  laying  her  cheek  to  his,  while  she 
drew  her  arm  around  his  neck,  murmured, 

"  Thank  God  for  giving  me  a  good  husband !" 

This  little  act  of  affection — these  brief  words — 
came  from  a  full  heart.  Two  of  her  friends  had 
made  shipwreck  of  all  that  is  dear  to  a  woman  ; 
but  her  bark  still  moved  gently  on  a  summer  sea. 
This  thought,  coming  home  to  her  so  vividly, 
touched  her  heart,  and  brought  forth  the  almost  in 
voluntary  act  and  words  that  have  been  just  re 
corded. 

On  the  next  morning  it  was  agreed  that  Flora 
should  accompany  her  husband  in  his  visit  to  Mrs. 
Whitney.  Her  heart  fluttered  as  she  ascended  to 
the  chamber  where  her  old  friend  lay,  after  enter 
ing  the  house  in  which  Mrs.  Clarence  had  lived 
with  a  distant  relative  for  some  years  previous  to 
her  death.  From  the  door  of  the  sick  room,  she 
moved  with  a  quiet  step  to  the  bed  upon  which 
Emily  rested,  and  there,  by  the  side  of  her  hus 
band,  in  fact,  leaning  upon  his  arm,  she  stood 
looking  down  upon  the  pale,  shrunken,  and  marred 
face  of  Emily  for  nearly  a  minute.  The  sick 
woman  slept.  Her  quiet  breathing,  and  the  moist 
ure  that  rested  upon  her  forehead,  showed  that 
her  fever  had  left  her,  while  her  calm,  infant-like 
sleep  indicated  the  return  of  reason. 

"  She  is  better,"  the  doctor  said,  in  a  low  tone, 
to  the  woman  who  had  the  care  of  her. 
N2 


150  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

"  Yes,  she  seems  better.  Her  fever  left  her 
several  hours  ago,"  was  replied. 

The  sound  of  voices  reached  the  ear  of  Mrs. 
Whitney.  Her  lids  unclosed,  and  she  looked  up 
with  surprise  to  find  that  strangers  were  standing 
beside  her.  For  a  moment  or  two  she  closed  her 
eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  an  illusion ;  then  opened 
them  again,  to  find  that  she  had  only  looked  upon 
what  was  real. 

"  Emily,"  said  Mrs.  Arlington,  in  a  low.  earnest 
voice,  bending  over  towards  her  old  friend  as  she 
spoke. 

The  sick  woman  started  at  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  while  her  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  eyes 
scanned  eagerly  the  countenance  of  the  strangers. 

"  Emilyr  do  you  not  know  me  ?" 

"  Flora  !  Flora  !  Oh  !  is  it  indeed  you  ?"  quickly 
burst  from  the  lips  of  Mrs.  Whitney,  as  she  rose 
up  from  the  pillow  upon  which  she  lay,  and  threw 
herself  forward  upon  the  bosom  of  Mrs.  Arlington. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  friend !"  returned  Flora,  as 
she  drew  her  arms  around  the  almost  skeleton  form 
of  Emily,  and  held  it  tightly  to  her  heart. 

"  To  think  that  we  should  ever  meet  thus,"  the 
almost  heart-broken  creature  said,  an  hour  after 
ward,  as  Mrs.  Arlington  sat  holding  her  hand,  at 
the  same  time  that  she  caressed  a  flaxen-haired 
child,  some  four  years  old,  the  sweet  image  of  her 
mother,  that  had  climbed  up  confidently  into  her 
lap.  In  the  hour  that  had  passed,  much  of  Mrs. 
Whitney's  sad  history  had  been  related,  while  mutual 
tears  mingled  freely.  "  To  think  that,  a  few  years 
ago,  all  was  so  bright  above  and  around,  and  so 
full  of  promise  ;  and  that  now,  all  is  sorrow  and 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  151 

gloom.  Ah,  Flora,  life's  early  promise  is  a  cheat 
ing  dream !" 

To  this  sentiment  Mrs.  Arlington  could  not 
respond.  To  her,  early  promises  had  been  more 
than  fulfilled.  She  had  chosen  wisely  her  lot; 
the  mere  external  form  of  good  was  not  enough  for 
her ;  she  had  looked  for  the  substance  within  the 
form.  Her  friend,  deceived  by  the  semblances  of 
good,  had  rested  her  all  in  life  upon  an  unstable 
foundation,  that  had  crumbled  beneath  her,  when 
it  was  too  late  to  seek  another  habitation. 

All  the  assurances  of  undecayed  affections,  all 
the  consolations  and  hopes  that  she  could  present 
to  her  mind,  were  freely  offered  by  Mrs.  Arling 
ton.  They  had  their  effect,  small  though  the  ap 
pearance  was,  upon  the  mind  of  Emily. 

"  You  will  come  and  see  me  again,  will  you  not, 
Flora  ?"  she  said,  as  she  clung  to  the  hand  of  her 
friend,  who  had  risen  at  last  to  leave  her  ;  "  there 
is  now  no  one  left  to  care  for  me,  or  to  love  me." 

"  Yes,  Emily,  I  will  come  again,  and  often.  I 
am  glad  to  find  you  so  much  better  than  I  had  ex 
pected,  from  the  doctor's  account  of  your  situation 
when  he  left  you  yesterday.  You  will  soon  be 
able  to  walk  out,  Thope,  and  then  I  shall  expect 
you  to  be  one  of  my  most  frequent,  as  you  cer 
tainly  will  be  one  of  my  most  welcome  visitors." 

Then  kissing  tenderly  the  moist  cheek  of  her 
unhappy  friend,  Mrs.  Arlington  left  her  and  re 
turned  home. 


152  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

CONCLUSION. 

"  MRS.  WHITNEY  is  still  recovering,  I  suppose," 
the  wife  of  Doctor  Arlington  said  to  him  one  even 
ing,  about  a  week  after  her  first  visit  to  Emily. 
She  had  seen  her  nearly  every  day  since.  Not 
on  that  day,  nor  the  day  previous,  however. 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  doctor,  "  she  still  continues 
to  improve  ;  but  to-day  I  thought  she  seemed  more 
than  usually  depjessed.  She  must  be  lonely  and 
desolate." 

"  Desolate  enough.  She  seems  to  feel  acutely 
the  loss  of  her  husband.  '  He  was  always  kind  to 
me,'  she  said,  the  last  time  I  was  with  her.  '  He 
was  not  like  other  men  ;  he  could  not  struggle  suc 
cessfully  with  the  world  ;  but  he  was  good  to  me. 
If  he  were  disturbed  by  anything  that  occurred  from 
home,  it  never  caused  him  to  speak  harshly  to  his 
wife  ;  though,  to  have  shared  all  his  thoughts,  to 
have  known  all  he  felt,  I  could  have  borne  even 
unkindness.' " 

"  He  was  her  husband ;  and  she  best  knows 
what  was  good  in  him.  But  that,  in  resting  upon 
the  love  of  such  a  man  as  he  was — a  man  without 
honest  and  honourable  principles — she  laid  her 
head  upon  a  pillow  of  thorns,  the  result  has  sadly 
proved.  She  may  still  love,  in  memory,  that  pil 
low  ;  but  the  wounds  it  has  given  will  never  cease 


A    STORY    OF    MARRIED   LIFE.  153 

to  afflict  her  while  life  in  this  world  remains.  Time 
may  heal  them  over ;  but  the  scars  will  be  left,  and 
there  will  occur  seasons  when  they  will  cause  her 
bitter  anguish." 

"  The  cause  of  her  unusual  depression  may 
arise  from  the  destitution  that  threatens  her,"  Mrs. 
Arlington  said.  "  I  learned,  in  a  conversation  that 
I  had  with  the  woman  in  whose  house  she  is,  that 
there  was  some  doubt  whether  the  small  legacy  on 
which  her  mother  had  lived  would  be  continued  to 
Emily.  She  has  nothing  herself;  and,  if  this 
should  fail,  she  will  be  thrown  entirely  upon  her 
personal  resources  for  a  subsistence  for  herself 
and  child.  I  wish  you  would  make  some  inquiries 
into  the  matter,  and  see  if  anything  can  be  done  to 
secure  it." 

This  Doctor  Arlington  promised  to  do  at  once. 
He  found,  on  examination,  that  there  was  some 
danger  of  the  legacy  passing  into  other  hands  than 
Mrs.  Whitney's,  although  he  soon  learned  enough 
in  regard  to  it  to  make  him  satisfied  that  to  her  it 
rightly  belonged.  Prompt  and  judicious  measures 
were  taken  by  him  to  prevent  the  wrong  that  was 
intended.  He  was  successful.  Instead  of  being 
left  penniless,  and  almost  helpless,  Mrs.  Whitney 
came  into  the  receipt  of  three  hundred  dollars  a 
year,  which  gave  her  every  external  comfort  she 
desired.  On  this,  blessed  with  the  friendship  of 
Mrs.  Arlington  and  her  husband — the  latter  much 
more  highly  appreciated  now  than  in  former  times — 
she  lived  a  more  peaceful  life  than  she  had  known 
for  many  long  years.  The  world  presented  to  her 
a  new  aspect.  She  looked  beyond  the  surface,  and 
clearly  discriminated  the  real  from  the  apparent ; 


154  LOVERS    AND    HUSBANDS  I 

but  wisdom  had  come  too  late  to  give  her  its 
choicest,  because  its  earliest  and  best  fruits. 

Time  passed  on  pleasantly  with  the  amiable,  yet 
strong-minded  doctor,  and  his  lovely  wife.  Each 
day  brought  its  renewed  blessings,  for  which  they 
were  humbly  thankful  to  Him  whose  gifts  are  ever 
good,  whether  they  appear  in  the  storm  or  the  sun 
shine — the  drear  winter,  with  its  snows  covering 
and  protecting  the  good  seed  that  has  been  sown 
in  the  rich  and  tender  soil  of  early  years ;  or  in 
the  genial  spring  and  warmer  summer-time,  bring 
ing  forth  and  ripening  the  grain,  filling  the  vines 
with  rich  foliage,  and  swelling  the  grape  into  de 
licious  maturity. 

A  year  after  the  return  of  Emily  from  the  South, 
Mrs.  Allison  died.  One  more  shock  severed  the 
golden  cord  of  life.  She  went  down  into  her 
grave  unwept  and  unhonoured  by  a  husband  who 
had  never  loved  her. 


Thus  closes  our  narrative.  Its  lessons  are  too 
plain,  it  seems  to  us,  to  need  a  single  word  more. 
Much  has  been  written  in  the  fictitious  histories 
of  the  past,  much  continues  to  be  written  in  the  fic 
titious  histories  of  the  present  day,  about  love  and 
marriage.  They  form  themes  of  inexhaustible  in 
terest,  and  no  wonder.  They  are  central  to  all 
things.  All  that  exists  external  to  them  must  be 
tinctured  with  their  quality  ;  for  from  centres  every 
thing  proceeds  in  just  order  towards  externals,  or 
circumferences.  Whatever  is  the  quality  of  a 
man's  real  thoughts  in  regard  to  marriage,  will  be 
the  quality  of  his  moral  life.  If  he  does  not  regard 


A   STORY    OF    MARRIED    LIFE.  155 

marriage  as  the  holiest  of  all  relations,  and  does 
not  enter  into  it  from  pure  ends,  its  bands  will  rest 
neither  upon  him  nor  the  unfortunate  being  he  has 
called  by  the  name  of  wife,  like  silken  fetters,  all 
imfelt.  As  years  accumulate,  and  what  is  within 
comes  more  and  more  into  manifest  life,  that  is,  is 
less  concealed  from  the  pressure  of  external  causes, 
such  as  love  of  reputation,  place,  or  some  other 
motive,  married  partners  who  are  not  united  by  a 
genuine  love  of  each  other's  moral  beauties,  are 
less  guarded  about  displaying  their  real  feelings. 
Then  indeed  comes  the  winter  of  old  age,  in  which 
no  green  thing  cheers  the  eye,  and  no  mild  south 
wind  ever  and  anon  warms  the  sunken  cheek. 
Few  of  our  writers  of  fiction  have  gone  deep 
enough  into  these  subjects.  Few  have  understood 
the  real  quality  of  the  things  presented — few  have 
comprehended  the  nature  of  a  marriage  union. 
Our  own  feeble  efforts  have  in  them  only  a  glim 
mering  of  the  real  truth.  Such  as  they  are,  we 
give  them  forth,  trusting  that  they  will  at  least 
do  some  good ;  that  the  crude  illustrations  and 
vague  hints  presented  may  become  thought-in 
spiring  to  other  minds ;  and  other  reapers  enter 
the  field  from  which  we  have  taken  only  a  few 
ripe  shocks,  and  bear  thence  a  rich  and  abundant 
harvest. 


THB  IND. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 


B&gfflMHH 


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